Resident Evil: Men of Honor
by ChrisRedfieldEvil
Summary: Chris, Leon, Billy, Carlos, and Kevin form a team to combat a sinister new plot from Umbrella. Sexual feelings begin to develop between them. Contains slash, nudity, violence, strong language. Reviews appreciated.
1. Under The Shower

Chris Redfield stood before the empty hallway and squinted his eyes. Lit with only a flickering lightbulb in the middle of the corridor, he could barely see the faded blue door that ended the hall. His head was throbbing and his feet hurt, the last things he needed were aching eyes.

"Hallway 5A," Chris whispered into the radio link on his left shoulder. There was a moment of silence, and then the wireless receiver in Chris' left ear spat with white noise, followed by a response.

"Meet you on other side, Reddy."

The voice in his ear was low, but smirkily confident, a telltale sign that it belonged to Kennedy. Chris couldn't help but grin at the new nickname Leon had stuck him with. It was something different every day; sometimes obscene enough to make even Barry cry with laughter, and other times slightly more affectionate, like an injoke shared only by two brothers. Most often Leon's nicknames were the only thing Chris had to help separate himself from the oppressive terror that so often surrounded him, so he never complained.

_ It's do or die, Redfield. This is the last stretch. You've personally searched every god damn corner of this shit-hole, it's just one more hallway. Move it!_

Chris took his first step into the corridor, leading with his gun, a Jericho 941-F, imported from Israel. Standard issue for A.U.P.S., and a welcome change from the shitty arsenal S.T.A.R.S. had alloted for his duration on the team. Chris lurched forward, one foot at a time, his chestnut brown eyes groping the darkness for signs of movement.

The building was once a prominent coastal hotel, but after a fire had destroyed much of the east wing in 1973, the entire establishment was abandoned, and the state never looked back. The rumours of an outbreak had Barry scared. The hotel wasn't near a major city, but it was still part of the continental United States, and thus no chances could have been taken. And with the T-Virus still a hot item in the American black market...

A distinct sound alerted Chris. It was the sound of light metal hitting the floor on the floor – like an empty fire extinguisher had tipped over. Chris froze and aimed at the direction of the noise. The door at the end of the hallway, the one with the peeling blue paint, seemed to be the culprit in muffling the sound.

"Better be you, Kennedy," Chris whispered to himself without realizing it. His voice hung in the air, and in the second that it did, Chris recognized the urgent tone of it. What was even worse than the quiet were the noises that interrupted the quiet, and more than anything he wanted clear the area of possible carriers and get the hell out.

_ This hotel gives me the fucking creeps. It's like somebody took Spencer Mansion and ran it through a gigantic grinder._

That unpleasant thought still swirling in his mind, Chris reached the blue door and hung to the side. He gave the knob a rattle, feeling for the lock, and finding none. The door pushed open easily, and Chris hurried inside, gun first. He entered what appeared to be a a reception and waiting area, where velvet red chairs were overturned on the floor, scattered next to long-dead plants and dusty coffee tables.

"Figured you'd make a dramatic entrance," Leon scoffed. The lanky ex-cop was leaning casually against the half-moon shaped reception desk. His tall, thin frame draped in black kevlar was a striking contrast to the depressing grey gloom of the lobby.

"Kennedy," Chris breathed, trying hard not to betray his surprise, "Anything turn up on your sweep?"

"Not a thing, Reddy. This place is bone dry." Leon flicked a speck of dust off his shoulder and shrugged.

"Doesn't make any sense," Chris said, shaking his head in diseblief, "There was a blip in the T-Reader during reconaissance. Said there was a carrier here."

"You know the T-Reader can misread sometimes. Besides, we've scoured every nook and cranny," Leon replied. He didn't want to sound annoyed, but he was tired, and Chris' boyscoutish devotion was putting him on edge. "Ryman's already warmed up the chopper."

The disappointment that Chris felt only intensified when Leon performed another scan with the T-Reader, a palm pilot sized device created for the sole purpose of detecting traces of the T-Virus. The reader picked up nothing, and despite everything, a small part of Chris understood that it was right. The hotel, while creepy and rundown, did not exhibit the normal wear and tear of a building that had been infested with carriers. There was no blood, no bullet holes in the walls, and above all, there was no rotting smell. The fetid, acrid scent of the undead was something everybody in A.U.P.S. was only too familiar with, and neither Chris nor Leon could say they encountered it during their search.

Stepping into the outdoor courtyard, Chris and Leon's gazes hit the distant ocean, their view supported by the high cliff the hotel rested on. Their chopper, immediately recognizable by the golden A.U.P.S. logo emblazoned on the side, rested on the dead garden adjacent to the courtyard. Through the reflective cabin glass, the pilot was visible. A good looking, smart alecky man who strongly resembled Tom Cruise no matter how much he denied it, Kevin Ryman grinned at his teammates and raised a thumb. His dark brown hair fell loosely at the sides of his face, and he swept it back as Chris and Leon climbed into the chopper.

"Nice of you to remember our standing date, Ryman," Leon sang, snapping the sliding side door back into place. Kevin chuckled as he flicked a red switch on the dashboard.

"Buckle up, ladies," Kevin instructed, lifting the helicopter up and away from the crumbling, zombie-less ruins beneath them.

----

Chris gazed somberly out of his side of the helicopter. He was scanning the forests and beaches lining the Californian coast, searching for something to take his mind off his growing sense of unease. Leon nudged his best friend with his elbow, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What's got you down, Reddy? Never seen you this sad after a dry mission."

Chris was too lost in his thoughts to form an answer, and so he just shrugged.

"You two stink to high heavens," Kevin called out from the pilot pit, "The hell'd you find in there, a shit resevoir?"

Leon rolled his eyes. "Fuck off."

"I'm serious," Kevin gave a hearty chuckle, "You two need a shower like I need to get laid."

Leon was about to respond, much more vulgarly this time, but catching Kevin's glance in the pilot mirror haulted him before he could even form the words. Kevin's sunglasses were lowered, revealing Kevin's steely, winking eyes.

_ The hell is this guy winking at me for?_ Leon dismissed the thought, but it came back a second later. _And so what if he did wink? Doesn't mean anything. He's just being..._

Leon felt the same tingle in his stomach that he did a couple of weeks before. It was just him and Kevin alone in the A.U.P.S. locker room, and they were undressing after a workout. Leon swore he saw Kevin eye him as he was sliding off his boxer shorts, a question that was immediately confirmed when Kevin then remarked, "Warn me when you turn, you could take an eye out with that thing." Leon didn't know what to say. A man had never been as playful - THAT playful - with him in his life, and Kevin's lack of self-censorship combined with his irrepressibly flirty nature made Leon feel, well-

"Approaching A.U.P.S. landing site. Hope you two got those buckles on nice and tight."

Kevin's voice jolted Leon out of his thoughts, and he immediately sat up. He glanced beside him and noticed Chris becoming more aware of his surroundings as well. They both turned, almost in tandem, to their windows to watch the descent toward the helipad.

The Anti Umbrella Paramilitary Squad training facility was modest for a military installation, but given that their squad consisted of five members, it was more than enough to accommodate them. A shooting range, Olympic-sized swimming pool, gym, fully stocked dining area, library, dorms, and a simple office building comprised the grounds. Nobody ever felt oppressed by lack of activity.

In the years following Raccoon City's destruction, Barry Burton had turned to the U.S. government to help fund a unit devoted entirely to the extermination of the last vestiges of Umbrella's dwindling hold on the world. The government responded enthusiastically, much to everyone's surprise. Although the Umbrella Corporation had officially dissolved in the years following the destruction of Raccoon City, their lasting influence remained, like a faded red stain on a white cloth. It was the responsibility of the A.U.P.S. to eliminate these stains on the world, no matter how big, or how small.

Leon and Chris were Barry's first and obvious choices for the squad, and they both accepted before Barry could even finish the question. Jill Valentine had accepted initially, but a family crisis forced her to pull out. She was replaced by Kevin Ryman, on Chris' recommendation, as they had been friends during their training at the Raccoon Police Department. As stipulated by the U.S. government, any potential member had to have had previous military or police training and be of a certain age, which disqualified the young Rebecca Chambers and civilian Claire Redfield, much to the relief of Chris. He loved his sister more than anything, but having her life in constant danger was not something he wanted for her. The remaining two spots went to equally unlikely candidates: one, a former member of the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service, and the other, a once wanted criminal, found in hiding with Rebecca Chambers.

The helicopter landed with a soft thud, and the mechanical twirl of the heavy propellers began to fade. Kevin eagerly ripped off his sunglasses and heavy beige headphones.

"Home at last, boys!" Kevin cried out, kicking the pilot door open. Chris and Leon exchanged a nervous glance as they began unbuckling their seat belts. Kevin hopped outside and outstretched his arms, as if to hug whoever happened by his path.

"What is your god damn issue, Kevin?" Chris asked, a little harsher than he intended. Kevin grinned goofily, cocking his head to the side in disbelief.

"MY issue?" Kevin began, "Not a single trace of the T-Virus on the Pacific coast and you're lookin' like we're in Raccoon all over again. Lighten up! This is cause for celebration!"

Leon saw the huge, muddy patch of dirt flying through the air, but he chose to say nothing. The sling of mud hit Kevin square across the face, leaving a shit brown smear on his otherwise attractive features. Laughing, Leon turned around to spot the culprit.

"Go fuck yourself, Oliveira," Kevin seethed, wiping the mud off his brow ridge.

"Lighten up amigo," said the golden-skinned Brazilian, revealing himself from his hiding place behind the chopper. Carlos, out of uniform, usually dressed to impress, but today he was decked out in grimy sweats, covered head to toe in smears of mud and grass.

"Gotta say, Carlos, didn't realise that the 'Haven't bathed in a week' look was fashionable this year."

"Leon, my dimwitted friend," Carlos said, slugging a dirty arm around Leon's neck, "You wouldn't know fashionable if it was a was a 7-foot leather-clad, tentacled monstrosity screaming for your blood."

"Beautifully put," Leon grimaced, gingerly removing Carlos' arm. "Decided to take a roll in the dirt just for the hell of it?"

"Nah," Carlos shook his head, gesturing toward a figure in the distance. Chris, Leon, and Kevin followed his hand, toward the football field several yards away. A tall, trim man with slicked back brown hair, and similarly muddy clothes, was tossing a football in the air.

"Billy's a monster on the field," Carlos remarked playfully, "I was lucky to escape with my life."

Chris carefully watched Billy Coen approach them from the football field. Billy mostly kept people at a distance, but he was close with Chris, as they were roommates. There were times when Billy's mysteriousness was frustrating, but they for the most part got along; much better than Billy got along with the rest of the squad, Chris had to admit.

"I take it the hotel run was dry," Billy said as he stepped onto the helipad. He tossed the football to Chris, who caught it with one hand.

"Not even an infected crow," Kevin remarked, wiping the grass off his cheek, "Though you wouldn't know it from Glummy McGee over here."

Billy had noticed Chris' dour expression, but didn't really think much of it initially. Chris, at times, took things slightly more serious than the rest of the squad.

_ But no carriers. That should be something to be happy about, shouldn't it? _Billy pondered to himself.

Chris was relieved when the attention shifted from him to Kevin, who was wretching from the smell of dirt and sweat.

"Well," Carlos sighed as he patted his mud drenched hair, "Looks like we could all use a shower, eh?"

Kevin sneered and began leading the way toward the gym building. Leon and Carlos followed, trading quips along the way, but Billy and Chris hung back.

"What's wrong, Chris?" asked Billy. Although Billy was mostly guarded, his concern for Chris never was, and Chris recognised the flash of worry in Billy's intense eyes.

"I don't really know," Chris replied. It seemed like a cop-out answer, but Chris didn't have any other way to explain the muted feeling of dread creeping through his stomach. Billy placed a comforting, but muddy hand on Chris's shoulder, and together they followed the others into the gym.

---

The locker room was huge, comically so, with ten rows each consisting of eight floor-to-ceiling lockers, all for just five people. It was more than enough space for A.U.P.S., and they were all assigned lockers directly against one another to enforce a sense of family. Chris was sandwiched between Leon and Billy, who was next to Kevin, then Carlos, and then Barry's locker at the rear. Barry had been absent for the week to meet with a weapons dealer in Portugal, though no one could say they missed the sight of his hairy gut.

Carlos ran inside and immediately stripped off his gritty, damp sweatshirt. He already had his pants off when the rest of the squad entered.

"You just love being naked, don't you Oliveira?" Kevin snickered as he peeled off his navy blue pilot shirt. Leon couldn't help but eyeball Kevin's pale but well defined chest as he fiddled aimlessly with his combination lock. It was a little drafty in the room, and Kevin's red nipples were pointy and erect. Leon forced himself to concentrate on his locker.

_ Quit the gazing, Kennedy. What if he sees you?_

Kevin quickly unzipped his pants and tugged off his boxer briefs, revealing his plump, round ass and thick cock resting against two plum-sized balls. Carlos, in the middle of pulling down his underwear, seized the opportunity and gave Kevin a quick but powerful slap on his right ass cheek. The slap echoed through the locker room like a flat stone skimming the surface of a lake, causing Carlos and Leon to erupt with laughter. Kevin looked over his shoulder to inspect the hand-sized red welt forming on his butt.

"You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?" Kevin asked incredulously.

"I couldn't resist," Carlos said, raising an eyebrow, "You've just got such a nice ass."

"Better than yours, Umbrella Boy."

Kevin reached down and grabbed a handful of Carlos' left butt cheek. It was muscular and thick, but Kevin feigned disgust anyway. "What is this, an ass or a bag of cottage cheese?"

"You got a grip like a vice, sailor," said Carlos as he swatted Kevin's hand away.

Kevin and Carlos grabbed their towels and headed to the shower area, a tiled, three-walled room with eight shower heads on each wall. Chris and Billy followed, leaving Leon hanging behind. He unstrapped his kevlar uniform and watched as his four teammates chose showerheads next to one another, affording him a full view of each of their naked bodies. Leon always felt particularly insecure about his body, especially in comparison to his comrades. He was always skinny and lanky, and while Leon was fit, his body never seemed particularly receptive to muscle building. Not like the four tanks he observed standing under four hot streams of water, rubbing soap across their tight abs and meaty pecs. Chris and Carlos were the bulkier of the four, while Kevin and Billy were leaner, with ropey swimmer's builds.

Carlos squirted a handful of shampoo into his palm and rubbed it vigorously over his almond brown hair. Wet scraps of mud slithered down his back, sliding off his butt and onto the shower floor. He shook his head vigorously, and one stray fleck of dirt hit Chris at the back of his head.

"Watch it," Chris barked, as he wiped a hand across his neck.

Leon finally entered the shower room, nervously scouting to an empty showerhead beside Kevin. He was trying – _God help me I am trying_ – to keep his eyes to himself, but in circumstances such as this, he had always let his secret desire ensare him. Leon never thought of himself as gay, for he had enjoyed a number of fulfilling sexual relationships with women, but lately he had notice the bounds of his sexual imagination were widening. Part of the problem was that he had spent close to a year in intimate quarters with four of the most attractive, well built men he had ever met, with barely any off-time to devote to women.

Leon watched as the suds grazed down Kevin's chest and coursed down his ivory six pack. As Kevin vigorously scrubbed his face, his whole body shook with movement. This afforded Leon the luxury of watching Kevin's dick quiver slightly. Kevin turned and his cock smacked his right thigh with a pleasing wet thud.

_ Heaven help me…_

Chris had thought it was queer to ever say so, but he really liked Billy's tattoo. Jagged and tribal, it enveloped Billy's entire right arm, and really spoke to the man's intensity and focus. Out of the corner of his eye, Chris watched as Billy's soaped up his cock and inner thighs. The two of them often worked out as a pair, and usually showered together, too. One late night after an intense weight lifting session, by some strange twist of fate, they had discovered that only one showerhead was working. They were both tired and ready to drop, so they had crowded under that single showerhead together. Chris had never been that close to a naked man before, and his nervousness – or what he thought was nervousness – had caused him to get an erection. He was embarrassed, of course, but Billy laughed it off and told him it was nothing. They started up a conversation about the next day's target practice, and soon Chris' erection had subsided. It happened months ago, but thinking now about that close, intimate encounter was starting to make Chris feel-

"Hey. Redfield."

Chris spun around, squinting from the sting of handsoap in his eyes. It was Carlos, pulling his wet hair away from his wide, smiling face.

"Care to get my back?" Carlos asked, his grin widening. He turned and flexed his shoulder muscles, ready and willing.

Chris just shook his head. "Not on your life, Carlos."

Carlos scrunched his face up in pain and slammed his chest with an open palm.

"My love, why do you hurt me so?" Carlos wailed, "You know how much trim would die to get their hands on a piece of meat like me?"

Chris wasn't in the mood, so he didn't answer. He instead lowered his face and closed his eyes, letting the hot water stream over him. Carlos couldn't stand it when he was unable to get a rise out of someone – especially Chris.

"Such a shame," Carlos began as he lightly stroked his dark, thick cock, "Jill would have leapt onto this in a heartbeat."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop immediately. Everybody knew not to mention Jill around Chris. It was just something you did not do. Were it not for the sound of water splashing against tile, Chris could've sworn everyone was hearing his heart pounding in his chest.

Carlos, pleased with the reaction, just shrugged and worked over his shoulders with soapy hands. "Looks like you're not that hard to figure out after all, amigo."

All Chris saw was anger; inflamed pulses of red, exploding in mid air, his heart in his throat, blocking his warrior scream –

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Chris decked Carlos with a powerful right hook. Carlos was thrown back, bumping briefly into Kevin's side before hitting the floor with his back. His years of training taught him how to quickly recover, and so Carlos was on his feet in an instant, lunging at Chris for a counter-attack. Kevin went to grab Carlos, to restrain him, but the slippery tile floor threw him off-balance. Leon caught Kevin with both arms, heaving him up quickly. So quickly, that neither of them had time to register the fact that Leon's semi-erect cock had hit Kevin's leg in the maelstrom. His balance regained, Kevin threw his arms around Carlos and held him back, as if attempting to restrain his lion from its prey. Billy grabbed Chris from behind and held him back as well, but Chris's torso was still awash in soap suds, and it was difficult for Billy to maintain a grip.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, I SWEAR-"

Billy jerked Chris back, knocking him into the adjacent wall and firmly planting his forearm across the ex-S.T.AR.S. member's burly chest.

"Chris," Billy said sternly, "Get it together. He's not worth it."

Chris looked from Billy to Carlos, inspecting the Brazilian's electric blue gaze, hating every inch of his smug, handsome face.

_ No, he's not fucking worth it. He's not worth anything._

Billy let go the moment he felt Chris go slack, and Kevin followed suit by releasing Carlos. The following moments of tense silence seemed to last for years, and were broken only when Carlos rolled his eyes and strolled out of the shower room.

"Just forget him, Chris," Billy whispered, his voice throaty and deep, filtered through the steam, "Just forget him."

The adrenaline pumping through Chris' system drowned out Billy's friendly reassurance.

_ That little shit. Who does he think he is?_

Chris slammed a fist against the metal button under his showerhead, ceasing the flow of hot water. He marched toward the entrance to the locker room, grabbing his towel along the way. Leon, Kevin, and Billy remained frozen in place, exchanging nervous glances, unsure of what to do or say.


	2. Genesis

Billy was having trouble sleeping. Whenever he didn't have obligations, he slept like a baby, but there was weapons training in the morning, and getting shut-eye seemed impossible. He paced in his room for close to half an hour, contemplating reading, or masturbation, but he was in the mood for neither

He then entered he and Chris' spacious living room, plainly but tastefully furnished. The dorms they were given were really more like swanky apartments. Their bedrooms were huge, and the living room, dining room, den, and kitchen all seemed transported out of a 70s bachelor pad, not to mention their bathroom was the size of most people's garages. Dressed in only a wife beater and purple boxer shorts, Billy took a seat on the couch and propped his legs up on the coffee table. He began to contemplate the DVD collection nestled on the shelf above their high definition TV, just as the door to Chris' room opened. A sleepy Chris stepped out, wearing only grey boxer briefs. Even in the dimly lit room Billy could see every muscle in Chris' amazingly taut body; Michaelangelo's David come to life.

Chris rubbed a hand over his squinting eyes, "You up, Billy?"

"No visit from the Sandman tonight, buddy," Billy replied, secretly charmed by Chris' scattered bedhair. Chris lazily stumbled toward the couch and fell into a seat next to his roommate. He blinked a few times to get the half-awake bleariness out of his system, and his vision settled on Billy's legs up on the coffee table. They seemed to go on for days; lean, but meaty, ending in Billy's handsome feet supported by sharp bones and toes.

"What's going on, Chris? How you feeling?" asked Billy, noticing, but not commenting, on Chris' wandering eyes. Chris just shrugged.

"Got this tightness in my back. Bugging the shit out of me," Chris replied, "Might've pulled something in the shower scuffle earlier."

"Oh," a flash of worry crossed Billy's face, "Did I get too rough holding you back? I'm sorry man, I didn't m-"

Chris filmed a hand away, disregarding the very notion. "No, no, wasn't anyone's fault but mine."

He reached around and rubbed the sore spot, a few inches above his ass. Billy watched him with a furrowed brow. Chris caught the expression, and couldn't help but grin.

"Really, Bill. Not a big deal. Just a little tender."

"You know..." Billy began, and even before he could say it, he was struck by a weird feeling. Before he joined the Marines, he went to school for a degree in physiotherapy. He had learned an almost incomprehensible number of massage techniques; something his buddies in the Marines liked to rib him for, but he grew infamous for his ability to soothe the most seemingly incurable muscle ache with a few well applied jabs. Billy figured Chris could use a back rub, he had noticed in the shower how tightly Chris held his shoulders together.

_But is that overstepping my bounds a little? I mean, Chris is one of my best friends, how comfortable would he be with that?_

Billy couldn't admit to himself that there was something - what felt like a match being lit in the bottom of his stomach - that was almost like a desire to _touch _Chris. He was used to massaging his Marine buddies, but there was nothing between any of them, no emotional investment, nothing like what Billy and Chris shared. Even during that tense period when he was discovered in hiding with Rebecca, where it was nothing but disgusted glares and harsh questioning from the others, Chris always remained on a calm, even field with him. And when Barry had received confirmation of Billy's identity and innocence, the others expressed a sort of embarrassed surprise, but Chris had this smirk - _this little thing he does with his mouth, drives me crazy _- as if he had known of Billy's good heart all along.

_Stop being such a bitch about this. Just ask him. And if he says no, then whatever, not a big deal._

"Know what? Billy?" Chris said, staring into his roomie's blank face. Billy felt a blush of red blooming in his cheeks; he had left Chris hanging during his moment of reminiscing.

"If it's really bugging you, dude, I could give you a massage," Billy began, carefully keeping his expression and tone neutral, "I've had physiotherapy training. Seems like an easy knot to take care of."

Billy almost felt himself recoil, to shield himself from what had to be disgust and scorn, but was pleasantly surprised when Chris repositioned himself on the sofa so he was lying on his stomach. Billy then excused himself to retrieve the small green bottle of massage oil he kept under the bathroom sink, as the butterflies in his stomach reached a fever pitch.

_Oh, fucking calm down. It's a massage. These are done professionally around the world, and sure, two half naked male roommates might partake in it as well, but that doesn't mean-_

"Did you want me to take my underwear off?" Chris called from the living room.

Billy felt his heart thud against his lungs, "Uh, whatever you're comfortable with."

When Billy came back into the living room, he was met with the sight of Chris' naked, firm buttocks greeting him from the sofa. Chris was a tall guy - about 6'1 - and his muscular frame covered the length of the sofa. The sofa itself was low, so Billy would have to either kneel over Chris (which would have hurt his back big time), or crouch down (which wasn't ideal for the knees).

_Looks like I'll have to straddle him. What's the saying? Save a horse, ride a cowboy..._

The thought inexplicably caused Billy to break out into a sweat. He was always a cool guy under pressure, but something about seeing Chris' naked form sprawled out before him, as if Chris were surrendering his body to Billy, had made some deepseated feelings inside bubble to the surface. Billy peeled off his wifebeater, sighing as the cool air caressed his sweaty skin. He went to take off his boxers, but paused. It seemed they should be formal about this.

"I'm uh, gonna have to straddle you to give you this massage," Billy explained calmly, "Do you mind if I do it au naturel? It's kinda, um, warm in here."

When he saw Chris' non-committal shrug, Billy stripped out of his underwear and planted both of his knees on either side of Chris' thighs, positioning himself slightly below Chris' butt. The sensation of Chris' skin against his made his entire body tingle. He was surprised by how warm Chris was, and how clammy his own skin seemed to feel.

_Just keep it cool, Billy. Fingers together, never break contact with the skin, start with long, deep strokes..._

Billy squeezed a couple tablespoons full of oil onto his palm, then placed the bottle onto a sidetable. He rubbed his hands together, not only to spread the oil evenly across the flats of his hands, but to warm them up. There was nothing worse than the sensation of cold oil on your back, and Billy wanted Chris to feel as comfortable as possible. He placed his warm hands at the base of Chris' back, and slowly, but firmly spread them upward toward Chris' shoulders. Part of the reason why Billy studied physiotherapy, is he simply enjoyed body contact. It wasn't always necessarily sexual, but there was something about skin against skin that connected people on a primal level, and massage was the best tool for it.

"You doin' okay, bud?" asked Billy in his softest voice. Chris murmured pleasantly into the sofa cushion, and Billy continued. He stroked his hands back to the base of Chris' back, then stroked them upward again, firmer this time.

_Going good so far…_

After a few minutes of working over Chris' back and kneading his tight shoulders, Billy worked unilaterally toward Chris' ripped arms. He placed both hands on Chris' upper left arm and applied a technique that had been taught to him as 'milking. Billy rhythmically squeezed Chris' biceps, one hand at a time, until the muscle group was properly loosened. Chris replied with a muted, but satisfied moan, so Billy moved to his upper right arm and did the same thing.

When that area was done, Billy slid his hands inward to Chris' shoulders, then slowly down his back.

_Alright. This is we step into somewhat dangerous territory._

Billy usually followed shoulders and arms with the buttocks. This wasn't a problem for when he was training, but he was about touch the butt of his friend. And not only touch, but sensually rub and knead.

_Don't put it in THOSE terms, Billy, christ. It's just a massage. Chris' massage. Chris… naked… ass massage._

Billy's hesitance caused him to slow his hands to a stop just above the buttocks. His hands remained there for a few seconds as his mind debated the next direction.

_If you make it weird, it will be weird. So stop being a jackass. _

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Billy smoothed his oily palms over Chris' taut bubble butt. It was round and firm, hairless, and-

_Perfect. This is a perfect ass. I am touching the world's most perfect ass._

Billy jerked his head to the side in an effort to dispell the thought.He moved his palms in circular motions over each cheek, lightly at first, but firmer with each successive circle. In doing so Billy managed to spread Chris' crack ever so slighty, and Billy found he had to look away.

_How can I live knowing what my friend's asshole looks like? Just look at the crack in the ass. I mean the ceiling. Look at the crack in the ceiling._

Chris gave another low, sedated moan, which prompted Billy to continue the kneading. He grazed the tips of his fingers slowly down the cheeks, causing Chris to clench them slightly. Billy couldn't help but grin at this.

_Alright, that wasn't too bad. Now you can get on with the rest of it._

Billy moved down to Chris trunk-like legs and milked the thighs and calves. When they were done, he gently worked over the soles of Chris' feet.

"How does that feel?" Billy asked. Chris responded with another groan of affirmation.

Billy slid his hands up Chris' legs, back over his butt, and onto his back. He was about to ask Chris to turn over, when a sudden rap at their front door caused Billy and Chris to simultaneously jolt up in surprise.

"Barry's on the com!" Leon's voice shouted, "Said it was an emergency! Wake up, lovebirds!"

Chris jumped up from the couch and grabbed his underwear from the floor. Billy didn't get a full view, but he could've sworn he saw a semi-erection as Chris pulled his boxer briefs up over his crotch.

"Hold on," Chris shouted, "Just need to get dressed."

"No time!" Leon replied from outside the door, "Barry said to come right now, so fucking move it!"

Billy and Chris eyed each other as Billy grabbed his boxers and slipped them on quickly. They raced to the door, both their hearts pumping a mile a minute.

_Damn. Is it just me, or did Chris actually look kind of embarrassed when-_

"Billy," Chris said sternly before opening the door.

"What? What is it?"

There was a pause before Chris spoke, and Billy clearly saw a little grin form on his handsome face.

"Nice technique," Chris finished. Billy was thankful that Chris wasted no time in opening the door and heading out; if he hung back a second longer, he would have seen Billy's tomato-red face.

---

Chris had to say he was relieved to see that he wasn't the only one in his skivvies when he burst into the Communications room. He wasn't self conscious about his body, but if everyone else was decked out in dress pants and sports jackets, he would have been at least a little embarrassed. However, it appeared that everyone had taken Leon's warning to heed. Carlos, Kevin, and Leon were all standing around in their boxers, looking simultaneously bored and on edge.

_So if I'm not the only one in my underwear… why are they looking at me like I'm crazy?_

Leon and Kevin in particular were eyeing him up and down in restrained disbelief, while Carlos just stood to the side and chuckled into the air.

"What?" Chris cowered, "What are you guys-?"

"Why are you…" Kevin began, but felt that he couldn't finish.

Leon decided to finish for him. "Why does it look like you just took a bath in Crisco, Quickdraw?"

_Quickdraw. Guess that's the new nickname for today._

Chris didn't even realize that he was standing before them drenched in massage oil, and found it even more difficult to try to formulate an excuse for it.

_If I tell them that I was getting a massage from Billy I'd never hear the damn end of it…_

"I, uh," Chris stammered, searching his mind for a reason, ANY reason, "Every morning I… it's uh… it's a moisturizing lotion. I usually give myself a chance to dry before I leave the dorms. And also, you know, clothes."

_Wow, Chris. What is MENSA thinking by not barraging you with membership offers?_

Chris was almost cringing in embarrassment over his answer, but it seemed to satisfy the others, regardless of how corny it was.

"So you oil yourself up every morning, huh," said Kevin, nodding sedately, "Sexy."

"Yeah, shut up," Chris shot back, secretly relieved his excuse was being accepted.

"Ahem."

A deep, throaty voice coming from the back of the room interrupted the light comraderie. Chris was taken aback when he realized the projection screen - usually reserved for Power Point presentations - was projecting the image of Barry Burton's wide, bearded face. His face appeared grave and worried, with dark circles under his sunken, tired eyes. He looked awful, and he looked scared – something Chris hadn't seen since Spencer Mansion.

"Nice of you to join us finally, Redfield," Barry said, his voice sounding electronically distorted.

"Barry sent me a com signal five minutes ago," Leon explained as he crossed his arms over his bare chest, "Said he had a lot to tell us, and immediately."

Barry's eyes scoured the room. "Where's Coen?"

"He was right behind me, sir," said Chris, not a moment before he heard the door behind him open and then slam shut. Billy entered quickly, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Chris used his eyes to trace a line down Billy's pecs, down to his abs and belly button.

_Damn. I know this may not be the right time, but… damn. _

Chris had always found Billy attractive, but something about the way his hair was tousled, the way his cheeks were red from the effort of running, his dumb but endearing Scooby Doo boxers…

"Coen," Barry acknowledged, "Gang's all here, then."

Leon was eager to get the show on the road. "Tell us what happened, Barry."

Barry cleared his throat, and appeared to try to compose himself. Leon and Chris exchanged a worried look. They both knew him best, and Barry very rarely displayed himself in such a discomfited manner. This must have been huge.

"Earlier today, an attempt was made on my life," he began. Barry saw the reactions of his squad, the stunned, angry expressions, and for a moment the feelings of terror and fear he held were replaced with the warmth he felt for each and every one of them. "Luckily, the weapons dealer I was meeting with at the time had a security team in the area. We were able to track down the sniper. He wouldn't talk at first, but certain… persuasive measured were used on him. He talked. He's… he's with Umbrella."

The last word almost seemed to leap out of the screen; it was that startling. Nobody seemed to know what to say, until Chris stepped forward.

"You mean, you mean he _was_ with Umbrella, right?"

"That's what I thought," Barry sighed, "But he said he was part of a black-ops division of Umbrella that was still operating in secret. Said they were scouting Brazil for participants in something called 'Project Genesis' when they found out I was in the area."

"Project Genesis?" Kevin asked.

"He said he didn't know the specifics of it," answered Barry, "Just that it took place on an island Umbrella purchased about a year after the Raccoon City incident. And that it was finally ready – and the last remaining active subsections of Umbrella were putting everything into making it work."

"Bullshit," Billy shouted, "Sounds he like he knows a lot more than he was letting on."

"They tried getting it out of him, Coen, they really did. But he gave us nothing."

The A.U.P.S. mulled over this revelation for moments that felt like hours. It was everything every one of them had secretly feared. Umbrella had dissolved, but only publically. It made sense that a company so big and far reaching was still working behind the scenes, in the shadows, to complete their nefarious plans. What ever they may be.

"I'm catching a plane as soon as I can," explained Barry, "In the meanwhile I want every one of you doing what you can to find out more about Project Genesis."

"Well, if we know anything about Umbrella," Kevin said, "It's that it involves a series of spooky buildings, convoluted means of unlocking doors, and a final fight with a huge slimy creature while a mechanical female voice informs us that the self destruct system has been activated."

There was a silence – not quite the reaction that Kevin was looking for.

"Your jackassery is appreciated, Ryman, but save it until after we obliterate whatever it is Umbrella's building. I'll talk to you guys again when I'm back in the States. Burton over and out."

Barry reached over and flicked something off-screen, ceasing the video link, and leaving the remaining A.U.P.S. members n the darkness of the communications room.

"You guys thought it was funny, right?" Kevin asked, his voice high and self-consciousness.

Leon, Chris, and Billy couldn't manage more than sarcastic brow furrowing, but Carlos laughed whole heartedly. He slapped Kevin on his naked back and strolled out.

"I don't know about you ladies," Carlos' voice drifted the further he walked away, "But I'm itching to slay some zombie butt."

Chris didn't feel nearly as giddy about the prospect, and from taking a glance around the room of worried faces that surrounded him, he was confident in saying that he wasn't alone.

---

Henry didn't know what his name was when he finally woke up. In fact, he didn't know anything about himself, or the large, strange city that surrounded him. All he knew was that the side of his head was bleeding, which sent shockwaves of pain down to the rest of his body. He was lying on the cold pavement of a large road, along a street dotted with small businesses and dead trees. Henry was sprawled out next to a smashed in cop car; broken windows, bent ceiling, and a smashed bumper.

_What... the hell..._

He forced himself to sit up, fighting through the stabbing aches that pinned his limbs. He tried to move his right hand toward his throbbing head, and was surprised when his left hand was forced to follow. Henry was handcuffed, and this, combined with his proximity to a crashed police car, caused a pang of worry to flash through his mind.

_Jesus christ, what happened to me? _

This, of course, led to the next most obvious question.

_...And just why can't I remember who the hell I am?_

Henry stood and bent over to observe his reflection in the one unbroken window of the police car. He didn't recognise the face he saw; it was as if a stranger was looking back at him. He was young, maybe about 18 or 19. Henry saw that he had black, shaggy hair that fell lazily to his ears, with piercing eyes the colour of smoke. He was caucasian - maybe. Henry saw a mostly european looking face, with a slim nose and high cheekbones, but accented with sharp, almost asian features and ivory skin. If he had to guess, he'd say that he had one asian parent and one white parent, but when he goaded his mind for more details, he came up with nothing. Henry noted his clothes; a crimson t-shirt under a navy blue hoodie, with bootcut jeans and Converse chucks.

He went to feel for a wallet in his pocket - a motion made awkward with his restrained hands. Henry pulled it out and eagerly opened it, finding no cash, but one laminated ID card. It was a university student ID, which read:

HENRY MCGLYNN

RACCOON CITY UNIVERSITY

JOURNALISM B.A. - FRESHMAN

10/12/1986

Beside it was a rather dour looking picture of Henry, which matched the person he saw in his reflection. He figured the date below was his birthday, and if he was correct about being 18, that would have put the current year at 2004.

_Henry. My name is Henry. I'm a university student studying journalism..._

It answered some questions, but not all. Namely, why did he need to search his wallet to find out his name? Why was he handcuffed? Where was he? And for that matter...

_Where is everybody __**else**_?

Henry quietly walked a few feet further down the road. Not since he woke up had he seen another person. The neighborhood seemed fairly packed with stores and other businesses, and by the look of the sun, it was the middle of the day. There were no footsteps, car horns, sirens, or distant chatter of human voices. There was only the wind, howling through the dead city, whipping Henry's hair away from his bewildered face.


	3. Sweet Talk

Leon had spent the entire day sitting in front of a computer screen, and every part of him ached. The worst parts were his eyes; he was used to staring down undead targets with a pistol, or shotgun, not at pages upon pages of meaningless digital text. Although he wouldn't have minded using the monitor as target practice.

The computer lab was located a few doors down from the communications room, and it served as a hotbed of activity for most of the day. Kevin in particular had felt right at home. Before undergoing his police training, he served as a technical advisor for a small accounting firm, but was laid off for spending more time perfecting his throwing dart technique than he did fixing network errors. It was all for the better, Kevin hated wearing a tie, and it gave him the opportunity to suck it up and submit his application form to the Raccoon Police Department.

Kevin, of course, spent most of the day teaching Carlos useless internet tricks and I.M.ing Leon shock images.

"Swear to god, Kevin," Leon growled, "If you send me one more picture of an old man's gaping anus-"

"You'll kiss me?" Kevin smirked, "Like that's incentive to stop."

"You're sick," Leon spat back, although it felt like somebody was doing jumping jacks in his stomach. Kevin's flirtiness did something to Leon that he couldn't quite describe, but he liked the feeling. He liked it quite a bit.

"Would you guys minding sticking to the fact that we have another potential biohazardous situation on our hands?" Chris had called out from the rear of the lab. He was working two monitors at once: one for typing notes, and the other for researching material.

"We've been at this all day, Redfield," Kevin replied tiredly, "Tapped all the networks, contacted all our sources. Nobody knows what Project Genesis is."

Chris set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, stretching his tired back and rubbing his sore eyes. Nobody wanted to say anything, but the tension between Chris and Carlos had been obvious and unavoidable all day long. The longer they spent in the same room together, the heavier it became with their silent war. Carlos, as usual, was playing it cool and steady, pretending it didn't bother him, but Chris was noticeably agitated. The massage Billy had given him earlier had helped in loosening him up, but Chris had accrued entirely new stress, and he really craved another go with Billy's miracle hands.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I think Kevin's right," Billy called from his station. He was balancing a pencil on the tip of his nose, and not doing a very good job of it, "Maybe we should call it a night."

Chris just shook his head, unbelievable frustration mounting inside of him. He didn't want to give up, not when there was still things they didn't know. He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone else, but deep within he felt a certain sense of pride for being a key figure in what he thought was the trigger of Umbrella's fall. The previous year, he and Jill had infiltrated Umbrella's last assumed stronghold in Russia. He had seen the cold white corridors, grab-bag B.O.W.s, and strange laser tricks with his own eyes. Nobody else in the room could claim that.

_They never saw TALOS. Never saw its hideous, spider-like figure… those arms that wouldn't end… that horrible, mechanical scream…_

He felt at many times that this was the reason he had taken news of Umbrella's resurrection more seriously. Chris had put that final bullet in TALOS - not Leon or Billy or Kevin. And to find out that that insidious corporation was still lingering in the shadows...

A cough jolted Chris out of his dark reminisce, and when he focused he saw that it belonged to Carlos.

"I'm outta here," Carlos yawned, "You guys might be built for this dorky researching shit, but I'm certainly not."

"Careful you don't pull a muscle getting out of that chair," said Billy, with a grin that only Chris saw. Carlos waved a dismissive hand in Billy's direction as he stood to leave.

"I'm going for a smoke," he sighed, exhausted, "I'll see you ladies in the morning."

Kevin raised a hand and waved as Carlos walked out of the computer lab.

"That's one down," Kevin smiled. There was a weariness in his voice; everyone could tell that Kevin was just as tired as the rest of them.

_But god knows he'll stay here till 4 in the morning just to hold it over the rest us_, Leon thought blithely to himself. Whereas some people were just a little too reserved for Leon's taste ­–_Like that Coen guy, for one _­- and others just a little too spontaneously brash – _Oliveria, for another _– Leon felt that Kevin straddled the line between sombre and obnoxious rather well. He had considered Chris to be his best friend, but Leon couldn't deny that he and Kevin had been getting closer the past couple of months. Chris had been spending a lot of time with Billy, and while Leon would never call himself the jealous type, it did leave him feeling just a little abandoned.

_But far be it for me to deny Chris the right to make new friends. Right? _

That was one of the many things Leon had confided in Kevin about. Chris becoming more distant, Leon's unrequited feelings for Claire, the nightmares the still haunted him about Raccoon, and the Las Plagas incident in Spain; Kevin was never judgmental, and Leon was unfailingly thankful for it. Part of it was that Kevin understood and felt much of what Leon was feeling – they were both in Raccoon during its fall, albeit their paths had never crossed.

Half an hour after Carlos had left, Billy bid goodnight, followed by Chris a few minutes later. Kevin and Leon were the only two left in the blue hum of the computer lab, and Leon couldn't deny it was something that made his stomach do a back flip.

"Just the two RPD boys then, eh?" Kevin asked with a smile.

"Looks like," replied Leon, "Guess we just have more stamina."

Leon leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms as hard as he could, making sure to work every muscle in his upper back. Kevin watched with a warm expression; one that Leon couldn't help but notice.

"What are you looking so moon eyed for?"

"You just look so tired," Kevin replied, "It's… cute."

"Cute?" repeated Leon in surprise, "I must look like hell right now."

Kevin rolled his chair to the back of Leon's, and then placed both of his hands on Leon's shoulders.

"Just close your eyes, dude, this'll feel nice."

Kevin began kneading Leon's tight, tense shoulders, slowly at first, but harder and firmer as he went on. Leon closed his eyes in relieved wonder.

_Jesus… this feels good…_

"You've been working way too hard, Kennedy," Kevin whispered, "You need to relax."

"Yes…" Leon agreed in his gentle stupor, "…relax…"

Leon didn't realise he was doing it, but the longer the shoulder rub went on, the closer he leaned back. The top of his head brushed against the nape of Kevin's neck, causing Leon to jerk up suddenly in surprise.

"Oh, sorry."

_Fuck, I hope Kevin didn't think I was-_

Leon's frantic thoughts were interrupted when Kevin grabbed Leon's face and pulled him in for a rough, deep kiss. Their lips met in surprise, neither knowing what had actually happened, but completely and utterly in the moment. Leon opened his mouth wide and felt Kevin's tongue gently ease in, stroking against Leon's equally receptive mouth.

_Oh my god oh my god oh my god Kevin is fucking kissing me and I am kissing him-_

A soft moan escaped from Kevin's mouth, causing Leon to intensify the movements of his tongue. It was rough and hot and confusing and delightful, all at the same time, and neither wanted to ever stop-

"Holy fucking shit."

The slightly accented, incredibly surprised voice rang out from the front of the room. Carlos had wanted to grab a smoke before bed but realised he left his lighter beside his computer – and when he came back to the lab – _this_ is what he had found. Kevin and Leon separated immediately, thoughts and feelings of shame and horror flying through both their minds at miles per second.

"You two are-" Carlos was too shocked to finish his thought, "Oh my god. Oh my _god."_

Carlos ran out of the room just as abruptly as he had entered. Leon didn't even look at Kevin as he raced out of the lab a moment later. All Kevin saw in the split second before Leon left was his beet-red, disgusted face.

"Well then," a disappointed Kevin said to nobody, "Looks like the party's over."

---

Henry had been running for 10 minutes, he guessed, before his legs gave out. Good news was that he was in relatively good shape. Bad news was that during his frantic sprint through the empty town, he encountered approximately zero people. After a fruitless search through the cop car he woke up next to, Henry chose a direction and just started running. He reached the end of what had to have been the business district of the city, as the road he had been racing through now opened up into residential neighborhoods. Victorian style townhouses wrapped around the empty streets, stretching as far as Henry could see.

_It just doesn't make any sense, _Henry told himself for the millionth time. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he was able to correlate his situation with that of a horror movie, something latenight and shlocky. He couldn't for the life of him recall the circumstances in which he ever saw such movies, or anything about his life, but Henry was still cognizant enough to know that something very, very unreal was happening.

The sun in the sky wasn't visible for very long. Clouds had moved in its place, creating a gloomy, depressing overcast. It set Henry's surroundings in a dull, grey haze that made everything seem that much more surreal and dreamlike. He was handcuffed, amnesiac, and alone in a town he had no way of knowing how to get around in.

_This can't be anything other than a dream. Well, more like a nightmare. _

It was a nice thought, but Henry had a nagging feeling that everything around him was only too real. The chill on the back of his neck, his eyes watering from the coolness of the wind, his cheeks going flush; not even the most vivid dream could reproduce such realistic reactions and abject feelings of terror Henry held at the pit of his stomach.

The sound of fluttering made Henry freeze in his tracks. _Wings? Bird wings? _he thought, but then he paused to listen harder. It sounded more artificial than bird wings, like-

_Paper._

Across the street, Henry spotted what looked like a folded map sticking out of the panels of a bus stop bench. Exposed to the wind, it shuddered and quivered, smacking against itself coldly. Henry raced across the street and bent over to wedge the map out from the bench. He turned it over and read the print.

"Raccoon City Road Map?"

The sound of his own voice startled him. But what had struck him even more was how stupid he was.

_Raccoon City. Your ID says you're a student here, you dumb fuck. Couldn't have figured that out on your own? No wonder you can't even remember why you're here, you're borderline retarded._

Henry set the map down on the bench and unfolded it carefully, pressing down to keep the delicate paper from flying away in the wind. Completely unfolded, the map was large and unwieldy, but what Henry saw surprised him: somebody had actually written on the thing. No words, but a black pen had traced a route all the way across town and then circled a rectangular building: 'RACCOON CITY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL'. He placed a finger at the starting point of the route and squinted to read. 'TOWNSEND STREET BUS'. A quick glance toward the nearby pole supporting a bus symbol had confirmed that it was the very spot that Henry was standing. And it all seemed so queer. Whose map did this belong to? Was it left here for Henry to discover? What exactly was at the elementary school?

_Maybe... there was some sort of attack, and all the town residents gathered in the school for refuge. _

It seemed plausible, but Raccoon was pretty big, at least from what Henry could see on the map. Could a school support all these people?

_Maybe... it's a trap._

That also seemed plausible, but a trap for what, Henry could not say. As it stood, he could either wander the city for days and then collapse into a ditch and die, or he could investigate the only lead he had.

_Investigate a lead. How very journalist of me._

A new feeling bloomed in Henry, replacing his hopelessness. There was something almost exciting and clandestine about what he was doing; he felt like a spy, heading towards a secret contact. It certainly felt better than worrying about dying alone and helpless, so Henry took another long look at the map, and concentrated hard on the long journey ahead of him.

---

_Almost there. Almost there. _

Henry's trip didn't take as long as he thought it would. The route drawn for him on the map was daunting and long-winded, but Henry found he could half his travel time if he cut through the shopping district instead of moving along the town border. It was a silent and unsettling jaunt through town; five minutes in, Henry was already sick of hearing his shoes pounding against the pavement.

There was just something so _clean and wrong _about the whole city. There were no signs of rioting or war, and all storefronts, businesses, and homes seemed to be in perfect condition. Aside from the cop car he woke up beside, Henry saw no other vehicles on the road. It was as if the entire population had evaporated, and for a reason he could never understand, he was the only one who was spared.

_What incredible luck I have. For all I know, I'm the last man on earth._

It was a sobering thought surmounted by an even more sobering situation. He might have been comforted if Raccoon was slightly more homey – but everything appeared so icy and impersonal to him. The major buildings all seemed to be built with intimidation in mind -especially that mammoth, museum-like building with the words 'R.P.D' above the front doors. Henry raced passed it on his way through uptown Raccoon, and even in his split-second sideways glance, it gave him the creeps.

After the R.P.D., Henry crossed three more blocks and took a shortcut through an alley before he emerged on the street across from Raccoon Elementary. It was huge and gothic, a mesmerizing, ivy-covered building of dark brick standing prominently against the grey sky. It looked more like part of an elite Northeast university than a school for suburban children. A well kept garden in the front yard was split in the middle for a walkway that led straight to the front double doors, framed in an arch. Henry walked along the front path, but stopped in the middle. A sound had given him pause – something rustling –

_In the bushes?_

He turned to his right, where he was sure he heard the noise. A row of dark green shrubs remained perfectly still, almost stiff to a point of artificiality. Silence followed, and the slight pinprick of sound that made Henry seize up never repeated itself.

_Just my imagination then? I must be tired…_

Shaking his weary head, Henry ran to the front doors of the school and pushed them open. The clatter of his footsteps bounced off the marble floors as Henry walked into a huge, ornate lobby. Roughly the size of the interior of a house, the lobby was etched with dark oak, complimented with numerous statues of Goddesses. From the moment Henry entered he felt he was being watched, though he couldn't for the life of him see any eyes. It was as if the building planner had no idea what aesthetic was appropriate for a child – and it made Henry quite uneasy trying to imagine what it must be like for a kid to spend his education here. It was a moot point, at any rate, as the lobby was as empty as the hollow streets from which Henry sprung.

"Hello?" his small, almost childish voice echoed through the building.

To Henry's right was a lonely stretch of hall that bended and continued around a corner he couldn't see, and to his left, was a secretary's desk perpendicular to a door marked "PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE". It seemed a good place to start, so Henry quickly walked over and opened the door.

"H…hello?" Henry called again, as he peered into the empty office. He didn't think anyone was actually inside, but it seemed polite to telegraph his entrance. It was a square, boring looking room furnished with only a cabinet and an antique typewriter sitting on a long desk. Henry approached the desk and ran a finger over the dusty papers scattered onto it. Nothing particularly interesting; a list of teachers and rooms, announcements, payroll…

_…and nothing to indicate this is anything other than a boring, dumbfuck school. _

There was a set of three drawers built into the desk, and Henry pulled open the first one. It was in doing so that he began to realise how much his handcuffs were chafing his wrists. There were bright circles of red lining the bottom of both his hands, and they hurt like hell.

_If that wasn't enough, there's nothing in this drawer… or the second one… or-_

Henry opened the third drawer and was stunned to see what it contained. A ring of seven or eight keys, a piece of paper folded in half, and a long, dusty flashlight. Not exactly a plane ride off of Raccoon, but it was a start. He was particularly pleased to see the flashlight, as it was getting dark outside, and from what he could tell, Raccoon City wasn't generating any electricity.

_And if there's anything worse than being alone in a ghost town, it's being alone in a ghost town in the fucking dark._

The flashlight worked. Henry quickly switched it off and on, and it produced a clean, bright light. He set it on the desk and picked up the paper, which, upon unfolding, revealed a frantic message scribbled in black ink:

**MEET ME IN THE LABORATORY. I HAVE THE YELLOW JEWEL!**

Henry read it and re-read it, looking for a signature, for names, but there was only the message.

_A lab… I guess the science lab? _

He turned the paper over, hoping to find a school map, but there was none. He picked up the very last item in the drawer – the key ring – and slipped it into his pocket.

_Amensia, an abandoned city, maps with messages, keys… what kind of fucked up reality is this?_

Henry grabbed the flashlight off of the desk and ran out of the principal's office, eager to find out exactly that.


	4. You're Not Here

Kevin wasn't having a very good day. First he was stuck in that shitty computer lab for hours on end, and when he tried to release a little steam by making a move on Leon – _**finally**__ making a move on Leon _­– he gets caught in the act. Carlos and Kevin got along alright; they were roommates and shared many interests. But in the instance that the studly Brazilian poked his nose into Kevin and Leon's private moment, Kevin had hated him more than he had ever hated anybody in his entire life.

_I finally get the courage to give that pretty Raccoon boy what he wants, and then THIS happens. It's like a bad fucking dream. Without the fucking._

Kevin slammed open the door to the suite he shared with Carlos, and was relieved to see it was empty. He stripped off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. He needed a shower, and bad; his brief makeout session with Leon had made him perspire like nothing else. Naked, he entered the spacious bathroom and threw aside the shower curtain. The shower was large enough to accommodate at least four people, and Kevin had always enjoyed the roominess of it. But he couldn't say he enjoyed it now – his mind was swirling with rapid, intense thoughts.

_So not only will Leon probably hate me for the rest of his life, Carlos has got a big fucking mouth, he's not gonna keep this secret, the bastard will probably use this as a way to blackmail me somehow, Christ almighty why did I ever bother with Leon…_

Kevin stepped under the hot stream of water and let it cascade down his rippled body. It was such an immensely theraputic feeling, letting the massaging stream wet his face and hair, but the release was only temporary. He knew very well why he bothered with Leon: Kevin was always attracted to him, and never kept that a secret. The other guys interpreted Kevin's flirting as playfulness, which was a hindrance, as it meant Kevin was unable to get anywhere with anyone, especially not Leon. The subject of sexuality was rarely broached in A.U.P.S., and Kevin figured that it would raise more than a few eyebrows if it were discovered that he considered himself bisexual ever since losing his virginity at 16 to his childhood best friend, Douglas.

_Not that I've ever found a reason to bring that up with the rest of the guys, of course…_

He squirted a small amount of showergel into his palms and began to busily soap up his chest. Kevin's frustration, combined the steamy hot water and lingering sexual thoughts had caused what remaining blood he had to head down south.

_Just what I need, an excuse for a cold shower._

But Kevin, mentally at least, was too fargone to even consider it. And so he used one hand to prop himself against the shower wall, and the other to stroke himself off. As had been the case with him for the last couple of months, whenever he had masturbated, images of Leon had flooded his mind.

_Leon's got a mighty fine butt. Those two dimples above his ass cheeks…_

Kevin had seen Leon naked so many times before – all in a non-sexual context – and he summoned all of those memories to the best of his ability in order to finish himself off. He alternated his strokes from fast to slow, and switched a couple of times to a move he called 'underhanded jerking'. Whenever he was having trouble getting off, Kevin liked to rub the under side of the shaft with his open palm. It often did the trick. Masturbating was normally a relaxing thing for Kevin, but in this instance it was a necessity, a chore, something to get through to finish the day. And a nagging feeling at the back of his mind was preventing him from getting any enjoyment out of it.

"Kevin?" a voice called out from somewhere in the apartment.

Kevin's hand went from his still throbbing cock to the shower controls, pulling it to the left and ceasing the flow of water. Frustrated even further, Kevin wiped his wet hair off from his face.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, uh, sorry," the voice replied. It was Carlos, who sounded much more sheepish than usual. Kevin waited several moments – conjuring all the memories of death he had witnessed in the past, zombies, horrible mutations – and his erection subsided. He stepped out of the shower, slipped on his shower sandals, and wrapped a towel around his waist.

Carlos was fidgeting in the living room, and he looked as uncomfortable as he felt. He was unsure of how to handle the situation, which was a surprise to Carlos, as it was not the first time he had walked in on two male comrades being intimate. In fact, it had happened to him more times than he could count during his training for the U.B.C.S., and not even then was he able to summon the courage to do anything but ignore it. But this was different – the U.B.C.S. consisted of hundreds of men in cramped quarters. The A.U.P.S., in contrast, was comprised of five men in a training facility the size of most small towns.

_Whatever happened with Kevin and Leon definitely wasn't an accident_, Carlos thought to himself. But he liked Kevin quite a lot; if this was the sort of thing he was into, Carlos wasn't going to stop him.

"Hey," Kevin appeared from the bathroom, surprising Carlos. He was still wet from the shower, as evidenced by his glistening torso and slicked back hair. Kevin stepped forward in his shower sandals, making clunky thwapping noises on the floor as he walked.

"Hey," Carlos said back, "Look, uh, what happened back there, I mean… I know I said I've come from a conservative background, but I don't judge, you know. It's fine with me. I just didn't… mean to interrupt."

Kevin had to admit he was surprised by Carlos' admission. During political talks, Carlos tended to be more right winged than the rest of the group. But Kevin wasn't going to deny he was happy with what Carlos had said.

"Well, I appreciate that," Kevin replied evenly, "I mean, I don't normally – I like girls, too. It's just-"

"Yeah," interrupted Carlos, throwing a hand up, "No, I understand. Totally."

There was an awkward pause, but it was over when Carlos stood up and gave Kevin a hug. It surprised Kevin because ­– _I'm naked and wet, also I just told him I like the occasional penis _­– but he accepted it graciously all the same. Carlos let go, and gave Kevin an inquisitive look.

"So. Don't take this the wrong way, but… _Leon_?"

Kevin just shook his head and laughed.

---

Leon did not have time to sulk. He wanted to – badly, more than anything – but he recognised the importance of the blinking red light. Only moments after entering his suite, he was greeted with a bright red dot right above his television. It always indicated that there was a video message on his comlink, and it was only used for emergencies.

_Shit._

He raced to the living table where he kept the device. It was roughly the size of an iPod, except it was plated with a glassy video screen. Leon switched it on and hit 'OK' when prompted. A few moments later, scratchy, blurry footage of a seriously beat looking Barry appeared on screen. It looked as if Barry was holding the camera up to his face while he was running down a dimly lit hall. He appeared panicked, frightened, bruised; and not to mention a huge gash had split his bloody lip.

"He lied to us!" Barry began, "The Umbrella sniper, he lied. We found documents about Project Genesis – what it really is. Umbrella isn't looking for participants! Project Genesis was over before it even began. Fuck-"

Barry's voice was high, feverish, almost, and it made Leon sweat with worry. The camera shook, distorting the image momentarily, before settling back on Barry's face.

"They bought an island, they built a replica-" Barry was interrupted momentarily by fuzzy static, and then resumed, "-wanted a testing ground, but the B.O.W.s – something went wrong with the B.O.W.s."

The footage blacked out completely for a few seconds, and then returned to normal.

"The Umbrella sniper managed to escape," Barry breathed deeply, "And now I'm being hunted by his squad. You need to get to the island – rescue anyone still there – I have the co-ordinates."

The footage swayed as Barry pointed his camera at a dirty scrap of paper. It revealed a tiny map, where a small island off the coast of Oregan was circled numerous times in red pen. Underneath, the co-ordinates were written. Seconds later, the camera returned to Barry's face.

"I'll be okay – I don't want any of you worrying about me. I'll get out of this soon."

Gunshots rang in the distance, giving Barry a moment's pause.

"Just get to that island."

And with that, Barry reached over and switched his camera off, leaving a frightened and vulnerable-feeling Leon alone in the darkness of his apartment.

­­---

When summoning people back to the communications room an hour after everyone had went to sleep, Leon was surprised to see everybody more dressed than last time. Sure, his comrades were still in their underwear, but they were now complimented with t-shirts, undershirts, and wifebeaters.

_Not to mention Chris isn't oiled like a California body builder this time._

Leon studied the handsome but worried faces of each of them, brows furrowed, tight mouths frowning; they all obviously knew something was wrong. After all, this was the second comlink in the span of one day, and they weren't stupid.

After hooking his comlink up to the projection screen and playing Barry's frantic message for the rest of the team, a stoney silence filled the room. Nobody was sure what to say, not even the regular smart alecks like Kevin and Carlos – and they had a comment about everything. In an effort to appear professional, Leon tried as hard as he could to appear as if he had completely forgot about what had transpired in the computer lab, and from the looks of it, Kevin and Carlos were following his example.

_Besides, there's a little more at hand here than that drama bullshit._

"I knew it," whispered Chris, finally breaking the silence.

"Knew what?" Billy asked.

"That the guy Barry captured was lying to them," Chris went on, "I mean, there was no way a company as down under as Umbrella was_ beginning _what sounded like an immensely complicated project. Whatever Project Genesis was, it was a big fucking failure, and Umbrella wanted it cleaned up, and fast."

"We leave first thing in the morning," Leon said tersely, "I screencaped the co-ordinates, it's maybe two hours by the chopper. I want everyone suited up and at the helipad at eighteen hundred hours."

Without another word said, Leon exited the room. It stunned everyone else, for Leon was usually a bit less stiff and cold – and he had always relished in being second in command, particularly when Barry was absent.

"He's worried," Chris said to the room, "About Barry. I can tell."

"Barry'll be fine," replied Kevin, "He's been in tougher shit before, right?"

Chris had to conede that Barry had, indeed, been in tighter situations before. But going into a mission as dangerous and mysterious as this, _without_ knowing how Barry was – it was something Chris did not enjoy one bit.

---

The beam of Henry's flashlight cut through the darkness of the school hallways, illuminating empty lockers and construction paper message boards. The sun was setting outside, and it bathed the entire building in a progessively dimmer orange-red. Henry walked silently through corridor after corridor, trying door knob after door knob. His search was getting tiresome, and Raccoon City Elementary School was even larger on the inside than it looked from the outside.

"Hello?" Henry called every other hallway. And in each instance, he was answered by icy silence.

He didn't think anything of it before, but when he had first entered the school, he was overcome with a strange smell. It wasn't anything he had ever smelled before – at least from what little he could remember of his life before this strange place – and it was off-putting, to say the least. It was the scent of blood, and flesh, and rust, and burnt wood. It was organic, yet artificial. Chemical and acidic, yet musky and damp. The only reason Henry recalled it was because the smell was getting even worse the farther he ventured into the building.

_What the fuck did they even do here? Hold sacrifices?_

While he could mind the smell for now, he stopped dead in his tracks when, upon entering the south corridor, his flashlight illuminated a spray of bullet holes etched into an otherwise pristine wall. By then it was completely dark outside, and Henry would have missed it completely were it not for his light.

Their presence frightened him, because bullet holes meant many things: that somewhere around Raccoon, there were people with guns, and they definitely knew how to use them.

_But use them on who? Each other? No… there'd be blood stains. And dead bodies. So what the hell was being shot at?_

The fact that Henry had heard absolutely no voices or scuffle since entering the school meant that these people with guns were either gone, or _hiding_ – which was a much more unpleasant thought. Henry turned away from the bullet holes and ran farther down the corridor. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the evidence of struggle as he could. His image of Raccoon Elementary as a haven was shattered, and he wanted nothing more than to get out and run as far away from the place as he could.

_Trouble is, I don't even know where the hell out is._

Henry had been wandering aimlessly for quite a while, and he still felt he hadn't even touched the surface of how much school there was to explore. It was like being thrown into a labyrinth with only your wits to get you by, and Henry definitely felt he didn't have enough of _that_ to save his rear.

It wasn't until he entered the east wing hallway and heard a horrible scraping noise that made his insides turn into ice, that he wanted to give up and fall to the floor and cry. The noise was hideous and loud, and sounded like dull metal against brick. It was followed by two lumbering footsteps, then another loud scrape, then two footsteps. Henry could barely get his thoughts straight – they swirled around his mind in blind panic – and so he turned the other way and ran for his fucking life.

_Christ what the hell was that jesus it sounded like fucking death-_

Every single image of terror and fear that Henry could comprehend was flashing before his eyes. He saw skeletons draped in black robes, pale vampires in the shadows, werewolves crouching in trees, zombies rising from the earth – as far as Henry was concerned, whatever the hell had made that noise was all of those things combined.

**Thump. THUMP. THUMP.**

The footsteps. The mystery monster was immensely heavy, that was for sure, or maybe as tall as the ceiling. But that sharp, metallic grinding noise – _What was that? Does it have a god damn WEAPON?_

Henry was running too fast to be able to place the noise correctly, but in his immense panic he was certain that it was closing in on him, and quick. He grabbed the door knob to a classroom, but it was locked. Henry ran to the second nearest classroom; it too was locked. His hands were shaking too hard to work his key ring, not to mention he didn't have enough time to figure out which key was which. He directed his flashlight further down the hall, and saw his next possible hiding place. A locker door was hanging ajar.

_Looks like I don't really have a choice, do I?_

Henry's mind was completely made up when there was another screech of metal against brick, and this one was definitely closer to him than the others. Henry raced to the locker and dived in. It was a tight squeeze, but he was skinny, and managed to fit inside, if not a little uncomfortably. He closed the tiny metal door over him, clicked off his flashlight, and waited.There were three slits in the door at Henry's eye level that afforded him a view of the hall. He wasn't able to see much, as it was night, but there was a beam of moonlight from a high window that cut through the corridor. Henry saw the beam, and the pale white wall beyond it, but not much else.

_I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. This – this THING – whatever it is, it wont see me. I just have to be quiet. I'm okay. I'm okay. I am okay._

The slow but thundering footsteps entered the very hall that Henry was in, and he quickly understood that he was _not_ okay. His heart was thundering against his chest. His breathing was deep and shallow. His entire body was shaking in fright. Despite being concealed, Henry felt naked, exposed, and pitiful.

_And I am about to die. Yes, I am going to die. If I had any memories about my life at all they'd be flashing before my god damn eyes right about now-_

His thoughts were interrupted when a great, looming mountain of **black **cut through his field of vision. The pounding footsteps, the horrible shriek of metal; the impossible monster of Henry's paranoid nightmares had just walked right past him.If it had meant any malice to Henry, it obviously didn't see him.

Time seemed to stop as Henry waited for the footsteps and the trailing grinding noise to subside. It did, eventually, but Henry found he couldn't move at all. He didn't want to go back out into the hall, he didn't want to have to dodge huge hideous monsters with weapons, or psychos with guns, or any of it – he wanted to go home. Problem is, he had no idea where home was.

_No. I don't want to go home. I want to be __**saved.**_

He stood timidly in his little hiding area, and made a silent prayer for a savior.

_If there is any God in heaven, somebody will find me. Somebody. Anybody. Please._


	5. Fear No Evil

**Chris took Leon's thick, throbbing member into his salivating mouth. The blonde rookie cop shot his head back, engulfed in utter ecstasy. Chris eagerly ran his tongue along the engorged shaft, feeling Leon tremor beneath his warm hands. Leon placed one hand on the back of Chris' head, and raked his fingers through Chris' chocolate brown hair.**

**"That feels so good," Leon managed to moan between sharp breaths. The sensation of his cock in Chris' warm, wet mouth was absolutely indescribable, like something-**

"Wake up, jerk."

Chris bolted awake, shocked by the sudden withdrawal from his erotic dreamworld. When his vision focused, he began to realise, once again that, he was in the cabin of the A.U.P.S. helicopter, and they were flying high above ground. Chris rose in his seat, and his movement was stiff, which he attributed with the bulky, Kevlar attire strapped to his body. Each A.U.P.S. member was equipped with said uniform, as well as a machine-gun – nothing fancy, standard Belgium M420 make – as well as their Jericho handguns strapped to their right thighs. Their uniforms were topped with protective, face-covering helmets, which were outfitted with filtered nozzles over the mouth and two spooky, orange-red lenses over the eyes. As they were all relatively the same height, it was nearly impossible to tell anyone apart when fully suited, except for their bright white I.D. patches on their chests.

"Was I sleeping?" Chris mumbled to Leon, who had elbowed him in the ribs.

"More like dreaming," Leon smirked, "Cubby, you were making these weird noises. Putting on a big show for everyone"

"Did you just call me Cubby?"

The orange-red lenses in the masks were reflective, and offered a barely visible window to the eyes of the wearer. But still, Chris clearly saw the lighthearted twinkle in Leon's eyes. It pleased him to see, considering how terse and cold Leon had been to everybody the night before.

Carlos was sitting across from them, nudging an itchy spot under his arm pit. He craned his neck and called out into the pilot's pit, where Kevin was handling the controls.

"How we doing for time, Ryman?" called Carlos.

"Five more minutes," Kevin replied, "You can see it in the distance."

Carlos, along with Leon and Chris, turned their glances toward the left window. In the horizon, amidst a blanket of dark blue sea, a wide island was beginning to form.

"What do they call this floating piece of shit?" Carlos asked to nobody in particular.

"It's nameless," Leon said back, "And it remained nameless even when Umbrella bought it six years ago."

"Six years ago," a brow-furrowed Chris repeated, "That's when Raccoon fell."

It was a grave observation, and one that made everybody fall silent as their jet black helicopter sliced through the crisp afternoon air, toward their strange island destination.

---

The smell of blood and vomit was overwhelming. The door to the school science lab was locked, but after a few attempts with his key ring, an uneasy Henry managed to open it. And he regretted it almost immediately. It was as if the smell was a solid wall that Henry had run into face-first; it was awful and invasive, he felt like he had been thrown against his will into a endless ocean of the most despicable fluids in the world. Unable to maintain a strong stomach any longer, Henry shut the door again and vomited.

_If it's possible to die from a smell, then I'm almost half-way dead._

Henry wiped his quivering lips and stood up a little straighter.

_But whoever wrote that message for me, they said to meet them here. But who could stand to be in that room for longer than a second?_

The thought troubled him, but he was tired of waiting, hiding, and crying. Henry wanted out, desperately, and whatever was in that room had to bring him one step closer to salvation. Or at least, something approaching salvation.

Henry brought one handcuffed hand to his mouth and nose, and bent over to bring his other hand to open the door a second time. It was awkward, as it was the hand he also held his flashlight in, but after a moment of struggle, he managed to jimmy the door free. He was hit with the wall of putrid smell once more. Despite his mouth and nose being covered, it was just as bad the second time around.

His flashlight beam pierced through the inky darkness of the lab. It was easily the biggest classroom Henry had seen in the school, with row upon row of raised lab platforms accompanied with high metal stools. Glass cabinets framed the walls, revealing beakers and test tubes. It seemed just as lonely and pathetic as the rest of the school, but one particular detail stopped Henry dead. There was blood everywhere.

_Oh my god- oh my god in heaven –_

It coated the walls in a deep crimson, like some sort of obscene layer of paint. There were bloody trails splotched onto the floor as well, accompanied with entrails and other, darker organs. Henry swallowed something rising in his throat as he directed his flashlight downward, and saw a severed hand lying a few feet away from him.

"Fuck, no," Henry cried.

A_hand_, lying on the floor, as clear as day. The cold, detached nature of the situation was the most terrifying part about it. A severed appendage belonged in some crack alley, or a sewer, or a serial killer's hideout. For it to appear in an elementary school - one of the most controlled, benign atmospheres of any society - chilled Henry to his very core. Raccoon Elementary was not safe at all. And it was a notion that was only further supported when a quick, shrill noise pierced the air.

"Who's there?" he called out. It didn't sound like the tall mystery monster, it seemed much smaller than it. It was vaguely Henry's size, and made a scuttling, or rustling noise, except warped somehow.

_Get out, now. Get out. NOW._

His instincts were beating every part of his insides, but before Henry was able to move, a blood-curdling, hungry scream rang out from the corner of the lab. He immediately pointed his flashlight in the direction of the cry, and what he saw made his blood run cold. Something shaped like a human being rose into Henry's view. It had grey, mottled skin that stretched tightly over bone. It was tall, maybe 6 feet; naked, but sexless. Two dark eyes were punched into its skull, and its slack, toothless mouth hung open dumbly. It had no nose or ears, from what Henry could see. And most troubling of all –_this thing, this… waddler _– had no arms. It scuttled forward on two bone-thin legs. The Waddler moved as if walking was new to it, but the hunger and rage in its eyes appeared to be anything but innocent.

Henry was frozen. His mind was screaming at him to move, but he felt helplessly stiff. He could only watch, horror eating him from the inside out, as The Waddler lurched forward through the dark like an image ripped fresh from the blackest nightmare.

_GET OUT OF HERE __**NOW**_

The Waddler's chest suddenly split open in one easy, grotesque motion, like a hacksaw swing. The sound of cracking bone and torn sinew invaded Henry's ears, and he wanted to vomit again as he saw that the Waddler's chest cavity was a pulsating system of flesh and teeth. One gaping, razor-filled mouth sat in the center, and from it a disgusting roar emerge – a roar that cried for Henry's blood. The terror-stricken boy moved, finally, but his shoes were no match for bloody wet floor. Henry tripped and fell onto his back. He rolled over quickly, and as he struggled to get up, saw something glimmer out of the corner of his eye. A yellow jewel was lying near the severed hand, and Henry's mind processed it quickly.

_Meet him in the lab he has the yellow jewel get the jewel and run GET THE JEWEl-_

Henry grabbed desperately at the canary-colored gem. It shocked him how clearly he remembered that he needed it, but it wasn't something he could linger for too long. The Waddler rampaged toward him. Henry grabbed at the nearest countertop and hauled himself up. He shoved the bloodied jewel into his pocket, turned, and ran for the door.

_Close the door behind you and run close the door behind you and run-_

Henry burst out of the lab and out into the hallway. He moved to close the door, but was surprised when the Waddler leapt halfway out into hall. Henry slammed the door, which trapped the wailing demon in the doorframe. The mouth of its fanged torso snapped and howled like a combination of wild animals Henry had never heard before. Straining, he summoned strength he had never thought he had possessed – and Henry shoved the knob hard enough for the Waddler to fall back inside. Henry slammed the door home, and ran, and ran, and ran.

---

Nobody, not even Carlos, knew what to say when a full view of the island finally became clear to them from the helicopter. Instead of gazing down upon huge sections of forest and plant life, it was as if they were staring at a section of a major American city that had been ripped from the mainland and dropped haphazardly into the middle of the ocean. And certainly not just any city, but a city they had each become acquainted with during its final days on earth. Chris tried to force himself to say something, anything, to push out any combination of words that were jammed in his throat, to try to relieve the incredibly crushing sense of dread and horror that hung over him like a dark cloud.

"This," Chris stammered, "This is very bad."

The helicopter landed on a makeshift dock, where several abandoned yachts and motorboats had been anchored. Chris was the first to step out. He was rarely stunned into silence, but that moment was a very big exception. He was standing in a cherished spot, where he had spent many afternoons playing guns and robbers with his friends. It was an exact recreation of Lowkey's Dock, south on Evanston street, a few blocks away from his apartment building.

_**Old**__apartment building. A building that is currently a pile of neutralized ashes in the bottom of a huge crater._

Leon stood next to Chris and understood his shock.

"This is…" he began, and found that he almost couldn't finish, "This is what Barry had meant. When he said Umbrella built a replica – on an island – he meant-"

"An entire fucking town!" Kevin finished for him, "Jesus tap-dancing Christ, what are those psychopaths thinking?"

"You mean what _were_ they thinking," corrected Carlos, "Obviously, nobody's been here in a long, long time."

Leon took a glance around. Carlos was right – the way the wind blew through the trees, the too clean streets, the dust that covered anything and everything – it was as if no human being had ever set foot in the forsaken place to begin with.

The A.U.P.S. members huddled around Leon's T-Reader, which produced the results they had each expected: seas of red dots scattered around the vicinity. Carriers were everywhere.

"Hope you chaps boned up on your target practice," Kevin noted sourly.

"We split up into teams of two," said Leon, "One person will have to go solo."

Leon produced five toothpicks: two were stained blue at the tip, another two were stained red, and the last was colorless, indicating the solo man. He mixed them, colored tips hidden, between two palms. Chris and Kevin went first; Chris had red, Kevin had blue. Carlos picked a blue toothpick as well, and Billy received the plain one.

"Me and Chris," Leon reported, "Carlos and Kevin. Billy, you're on your own."

Billy raised an eyebrow and shrugged, as if that statement was the story of his life.

"Everyone good?" Leon asked.

There were slight nods all around, but Leon couldn't help but feel a slight release of tension in the men. Leon didn't know what he'd have done if he had been paired with Kevin, and he was certain Chris would have lost it were he to be partnered up with Carlos.

Since the dock area was part of the tourist district of Raccoon, town maps were easily found at the cashier station located several feet off from their landing zone. Leon traced dividing sections into his map, and spread it out for the rest of the team to see.

"Ryman, Olivera – you two are covering the northwest end of the city. Begins at Finch and Powell, ends at Pickespie and Hardock – okay?"

Kevin and Carlos exchanged a glance and silently agreed.

"Cubby, you and I are taking the southeast to southwest. That's here, at Brahms and Carthwell, to the town border, here." Leon stabbed a finger at the border, and Chris nodded in agreement.

"Coen," Leon said, trying to sound calm, "Northeast end, where we are now, ending at Finch and Powell. That good?"

When Billy finished nodding, Leon cleared his throat and set into their game plan.

"Standard RC level 4 scenario. Eliminate any and every carrier, and coral any civilians or survivors into a secure safehouse. Restrain hostiles, and check any non-carrier you meet for infection. Coen, you don't have anyone watching your back, you need to be more careful than the rest of us, that should go without saying. But you're more than adept at handling yourself, so I know I wont have to worry about you."

Billy felt a flush of embarrassment at hearing this, but he maintained a neutral expression.

"We radio each other in waves every hour. You turn off your radio, you are as good as dead. Is that clear?" Leon awaited the nods, then went forward, "As always, the procurement of Umbrella-related intel is imperative not only to A.U.P.S., but the American government and the safety of the public. So, eyes and ears, open at all times. Good luck, men."

After a ritual good-luck clasping of hands and wrists, the A.U.P.S. team set off in their separate directions. Kevin and Carlos seemed focused and present, but Chris found that he was worried about Billy. Leon was right, Billy was more than capable of handling himself, everyone in A.U.P.S. was, but Chris was letting his trivial, but nonetheless heavy hearted feelings get the better of him. As they were all parting ways, Chris took a quick glance behind him, and watched as Billy walked off into the distance, and out of sight.

When Chris turned back around, he saw that Leon had taken notice of his concern.

"Coen will be fine," Leon said in his gentlest voice. "The man's an ex-Marine."

"I know," answered Chris. But deep inside, he wasn't sure he believed himself.

---

Billy could have sworn he heard a door open and close. He had been scouring the streets of his assigned zone for about fifteen minutes by his estimation, and it had been filled with the most grueling silence. For an island that was supposedly teeming with T-Virus carriers, it sure was quiet. So it made Billy jump that much higher when the uneasy calm was interrupted. It wasn't like a normal door to a house, it sounded heavier, like twin metal doors opening and then slamming shut on their own accord. It seemed to have come from further up the street, where Billy made a quick jog toward. He stopped once he came across one of the most intimidating buildings he had ever seen – and it surprised him when he read the sign that stood in the front garden.

"Raccoon City Elementary School?"

Billy hadn't spent much time in Raccoon before the T-Virus incident, but he had heard from the others how uncharacteristically gothic and strange that buildings – which were otherwise fairly common in nature – tended to appear to tourists and outsiders.

_Case in point: this damn school. Looks like the mental asylum where they locked Dad up._

Something moved. A shadow cast by the setting sun darted over Billy and settled in a large oak tree above him, rustling the leaves unpleasantly. Billy looked up and squinted; everything he saw was filtered through the mask's surreal orange-red glow, but he could definitely tell there was something up in the tree. There was a strange rasping sound, a breathing, and-

"Shit!"

Billy cried out as a creature leaped from the trees and toward his face. It moved too fast for him to get a handle on – he moved out of the way quickly, stabbing the barrel of his machine-gun toward it. It was big, the size of a grown man, but red and skinless, and moving on four legs like an animal. It had a huge, exposed brain nestled on its skull, surmounted by a flat nose, non-existent eyes, and a heavy, gaping mouth. It was something that shouldn't have ever existed, yet was staring Billy with its hideous, all too real face. Billy had studied, very closely, images of all the bioweapons that Umbrella had manufactured in the past. The closest approximation Billy could make to what he was seeing before him was the L-F95, codenamed 'The Licker'. The size, coloring, and general appearance were similar, but when the creature opened its gaping maw, Billy was immediately made aware of it's one fundamental difference.

A wet, cracking sound emanated from the creature's throat, and a spindly, seven foot long _arm_ erupted out of its mouth. Billy had once seen a man dissolve into hundreds of slithering, slimy leeches, but he had never wanted to vomit at a sight as bad as he did when he saw that fifth arm slide out like butter.

"Jesus-"

The Armed Licker's glistening new appendage swung at Billy with a hard arc. He dodged the swipe and rolled onto his side, aiming into the creature's face. The first few bullets bounced off ineffectively –_armored bone, presumably – _and Billy aimed higher towards the brain. Before he could fire, the Licker made another swipe, and this time, it connected. But instead of swatting, the arm wrapped around Billy and flung him at the school. Billy slammed against the entrance doors – hard – and crumpled onto the landing steps.

_Okay. That fucking hurt._

Billy raised his gun again, grunting against the pain, as the Armed Licker raced toward him. He fired into it, bullets spitting through flesh and bone, pounding into the thing's exposed brain. The Armed Licker went limp and fell in mid-run, slamming against the pavement and leaving a greasy, unpleasant stain on the walkway.

He took a moment to compose himself, and then Billy stood and turned his bemused face toward the school.

_If there are any more like him in there, I'm in big trouble._

But trouble was something that always seemed to find Billy Coen one way or another. And with that in mind, he pushed open the doors and walked into Raccoon Elementary.

---

Henry didn't know where he was going, he just wanted to get as far away from that horrible science lab as he could. Henry whisked past doors and lockers, through endless halls, until he came across a stairway. He raced up the stairs without hesitation, faintly noticing the sign on an adjacent wall that read 'STAIRWAY 1A'. He reached the landing on the second floor. As a temporary escape, it would have to do, but he still needed to figure out a way to leave the school, the city, and maybe the planet if he had to. Henry had not seen one window that wasn't plated with metal mesh, so he had to find a more traditional exit. But where?

_Need to find a map. Find the teacher's lounge maybe. Whatever, just RUN._

He did, and didn't stop until a newer sound halted him cold. It wasn't the thundering mystery monster, nor the Waddler – it was a gun. A machine-gun, pumping out bullet after bullet, ripping into what sounded like flesh and bone. Following it was the angered battle cry of a man, who, in Henry's shaken estimation, sounded delirious and unhinged. And this man, whoever he was, sounded close. Very close.

Henry cut through another hall and came across an impasse – a corridor to the left, and a corridor to the right. He didn't know how he was able to remember, but Henry vaguely recalled the notion that when faced with a binary decision, people often went with the side associated with their dominant hand. He chose the right.

As good a reason as any – and if I die I can blame it on my hand. Henry sprinted down the corridor and saw that it ended with another two options. To his left was a staircase – 'STAIRWAY 2A' – and to his right was a set of double doors. Henry veered to his right. He reached the doors, which supported tall, rectangular windows. Henry peered through and saw only a dimly lit hall, so he shoved the double doors open and entered. He walked a few steps and then stopped – immediately – when a bright flash of light blazed into his eyes. 

_What in the hell-_

He was blinded for a moment, and when his eyes recovered, all Henry could see were angry, exploding flashes of blue and white. A harsh light was shining in his eyes; it was like he was flying high above the sky and witnessing the birth of a new solar system. Footsteps brought him back down to earth, and Henry saw, very clearly, that a tall man clad in black was standing at the other end of the hallway. The man held a machine-gun in two dark, glove-clad hands; underneath the barrel was a bright flashlight that was directed right at Henry's face. The man's head was obscured by a black mask that vaguely resembled a gas mask, except it looked high-tech, scary, cold. Unnatural. Despite being the most human of what Henry had encountered thus far, there was something decidedly _inhuman_ about this person – if it even was a person – and Henry didn't want any part in whatever this _soldier man_ wanted of him.

Henry turned and ran back through the double doors; slamming them hard into place. His eyes quickly searched the cold metal surface and found that a key hole sat next to the door knob. He reached into pocket and frantically pulled out his key ring. Henry took a quick glance through the door windows and saw that the soldier man was _running_at him. Henry tried the first key – didn't fit. Second, third, and finally by the fourth, Henry found the right fit, and turned the lock. The soldier man arrived at the door a second later pounded a gloved fist against the window.

Henry backed away immediately. His eyes took in several images at once: the orange-red lenses that covered the soldier man's eyes, the intricate stitching of the Kevlar vest, the white I.D. patch on the chest that said 'COEN', it all worked to make the soldier man frighteningly present. Henry quickened his steps as he continued to back away. He found that he couldn't even take his eyes off the soldier man, there was something so-

Oh FUCK- 

The hard beam that smacked into Henry's lower back was his only indication of what was to follow. He had backed up until his back hit the railing of Stairway 2A; and Henry hit the beam so hard that he flipped over and fell, an entire story, until he smacked hard against the cold linoleum of the first floor landing. Bright flashes of pain struck his body like slithering, hard tendrils. It was hard to breathe; it felt as if every inch of air had escaped his lungs.His flashlight had landed a few feet away from him , and its light was directed away, making it particularly hard for Henry to see. He could barely move, he was in too much pain.

_Such an idiot, such an idiot-_

He was in so much pain, in fact, that when he heard the heavy, thundering footsteps and scraping of metal, all he wanted at the moment was a swift death. It took tremendous effort, but Henry lifted his head an inch off the floor and squinted, hard. It was dark, but the mystery monster was standing before him, and he could see every inch of its nightmarish appearance.

At about 8 or 9 feet, it stood tall and prominent, with the stance of some revered Greek God. It was manly and humanoid, and like the Waddler, was naked and sexless. Unlike the Waddler, it had all the limbs of a human being. Its skin appeared brownish, or reddish, Henry wasn't sure, and he saw scabs and blackened gouges all over its body. The monster had the build of an Olympian or a wrestler, on steroids, on steroids, on steroids. Muscles bulged and ripped through skin, exposing musculature and veins. But it was when Henry saw the face of it that he began to cry. One eye was larger than the other, almost comically so, and they both had a cold, milky glaze, betraying no emotion or feeling. Its joke of a nose was nothing more than two black slits in the center of its face. Worst of all, was the monster's mouth. In some bizarre, counterfeit bid for relateabitily, its black lips were snarled, stitched, and ripped to give the illusion of a smile. It was a smile that portrayed no joy, or satisfaction, or delight. A smile that was as wide as it was unnatural, and just _wrong – so wrong_.

The hulking mammoth took a step forward, and Henry finally saw the huge axe it dragged behind with its right hand. It was the largest weapon Henry had presumed he had ever seen in his life, with a handle the length of a car that ended in a colossal double-sided blade. It was a bizarre weapon; one that didn't seem to have much practical use, but for the entity of fear that stood before Henry, it seemed to fit just perfectly

"What do you think, Stanley?" a small voice suddenly said. It was female, British. Henry didn't know if it was his concussion or not, but the voice echoed in the most surreal manner, like it was coming from another dimension.

_Where… who…?_

From behind the monster that the voice dubbed Stanley, a small, pale girl with long blonde hair appeared. She didn't look any older than 9, and wore a ragged white dress, stained with dirt, held up by suspenders. The girl was small and pretty, but there was something a little off about the way she carried herself, as if she were an old soul breaking in a new body. The girl was an ant next to Stanley, but the monster made no motion of anger or violence towards her. She stepped around the monster, casually, and Henry saw her dark, piercing eyes. They were haunting, and strangely old, in a way. It seemed wrong that a girl so young would have eyes like that – but then again, nothing about the situation Henry found himself in seemed right.

"I think he's an angel," the girl said with a tiny smile. She hugged Stanley's leg tight, and stared at Henry through her long blond hair. "He fell from heaven."

"Who… are you?" Henry managed to spit out. It hurt for him to talk.

"You're the one who will save us all," sang the girl, who let go of the beast's leg and skipped toward the injured boy, "You have all the pieces to our puzzle."

She stopped inches before Henry and knelt down until her face was almost touching his. Her eyes squinted and her voice dropped to a low, throaty whisper.

"You're the one who will deliver us from evil," the girl gravely said.

Henry couldn't be strong any longer. Everything he had experienced – waking up alone, his amnesia, the ghost town, that awful smell, the blood, the death, the soldier man, the terrifying creatures, and this _girl_ – everything had weighed down on him and crushed his very soul until he couldn't hold on any longer.

He dropped his head back onto the ground, and allowed the world outside of him to slip away.


	6. Wounded Warsong

Neither Leon or Chris wanted to believe what they were seeing, but as they stood before the mammoth, imposing structure of the Raccoon Police Department, it seemed only too silly to deny its existence.

"Never thought I'd see this dump again," Leon muttered.

In truth, the RPD building wasn't even part of their assigned sector, but in passing the colossal building along their way, neither man could help but stop and stare.

"C'mon Cubby," Leon said as he nudged Chris, "This is Coen's beat, we need to hit Brahams Avenue and follow it down toward-"

"No."

The condemnation was as clear as it was abrupt, and Leon wasn't sure how to respond.

"If there are survivors – if there's something that'll lead us to this island's purpose, there might be something in there that'll help us," Chris explained.

"Seems as wild a guess as any," Leon replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Just- just call it a hunch, okay?" said Chris, "I know this is Billy- I mean Coen's turf, but it could be another hour until he gets around to this neighborhood. We'll do a quick reconnaissance, for Coen, then we'll be on our way."

Leon examined Chris' carefully unreadable face. There was something quite odd about his edginess, as Chris had usually been nothing but calm and straightforward to Leon, but he was willing to give his best friend the benefit of the doubt.

_Especially if it means he'll stop acting all weird and jittery._

"Well," Leon sighed, throwing a hand up, "I guess it would be kind of interesting to see the place again. It'd be giving the seventh layer of Hell another visit."

Chris smirked, "That's the spirit."

They walked silently through the courtyard and approached the heavy entrance doors. Leon held his rifle to the sky and took the doorman's position as Chris backed him up. After a flick of Leon's thumb, and a nod of Chris' head, Leon pulled open the front doors.

Both men rushed in quickly, eyes surveying the immediate area as they half-ran down the foyer steps and into the sunken lobby area. It looked just as both Leon and Chris remembered – three floors of amazingly ornate oak and marble, like something out of the Renaissance and plucked into the modern era to serve, bewilderingly, as the main core of an urban police station. A stone marble statue of a naked woman carrying an urn over her shoulder greeted the men from the receptionist's desk. Chris and Leon edged further into the lobby and carefully made note of the doors – two to the left, one to the immediate right of the entrance. There were no bodies or signs of immediate danger; they were as alone as they felt. It was surreal and haunting; like wandering into the memory of a ghost, rather than an actual place.

Leon stopped at the marble statue and ripped off his mask. Sweat had matted down his dirty blonde hair. It was humid in the building, alarmingly so. Chris followed suit and discarded his mask onto the floor.

"I'm not sure I remember Chief Irons converting the lobby into a sauna," Chris began, "But otherwise… it's amazing. It's just like – it's everything like-"

Chris trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. Leon nodded in solidarity.

"I know exactly what you mean."

---

As exciting as the prospect of visiting the R.P.D. seemed at the time, Chris had to admit his eagerness had been short-lived. The station was devoid of life – and unlife – and it made scouring the building that much more tedious. Leon in particular was almost spooked by the lack of zombies, something he never thought he would ever admit, and the heat was definitely getting to him. It was getting to both of them, in fact. By the time they had reached the second floor library, past the S.T.A.R.S. office, they were both drenched in sweat.

"This is getting a little ridiculous," Leon panted. He raised a hand to wipe off his brow, and then grimaced to see how wet his glove was.

"No kidding," Chris agreed, "I could use a shower more than anything right now."

"You think the locker room showers are still working, here?" Leon asked with a scoff.

When he saw that Chris was seriously considering it, Leon had to back up.

"Whoa, wait, you don't really-"

"The heat is making us both tired," Chris explained, "A cool shower would rejuvenate us, you know? Make us more alert."

The doubt in Leon's face was obvious, but in his mind he couldn't argue with the fact that he stunk to high heavens. A quick spray of cool water – it didn't sound too bad.

_But it leaves us open, and vulnerable. That's not a risk I want to take._

"Look," Chris leveled, "We'll complete the sweep of this floor, and if there's nothing, we head back to the locker room to see if the showers work. Alright?"

It seemed fair, Leon supposed, but there was still something that made him want to pull back. Chris almost felt like crossing his arms in faux-contempt.

"You know, we've seen each other naked before. If you're gonna start being shy now, you chose a bad time. A bad, smelly time."

"Oh, cram it with walnuts, Cubby," Leon scoffed, "Let's do the sweep. Then we'll see if the showers work. Alright?"

Chris nodded, and immediately wished that he had kept his mask, for his smile was too obvious to hide.

---

Time was passing. Henry saw himself, his younger self, frolicking in an open park. There was a man with him, and a woman, but both of their faces were distorted and stretched. Blurred, almost, like his mind was censoring itself. He wanted more than anything to reach out to them, to touch them, to ask them their names, but before he could, time moved forward again. Now, he was in his early teens, lanky and awkward looking, asleep in a moving vehicle. _Dreaming about dreaming_, Henry found the irony quick. He watched himself awaken as the car stopped. He watched himself step out of the vehicle and into an unknown place; places he had been escorted to all his life, never remaining for long.

Darkness surrounded him and Henry saw himself as he was today, older and alone, terrified, and desperate. He was chasing somebody, a scientist-type, through a cold metal hallway. There were so many hallways; it seemed like Henry had spent his entire life running down them. The scientist wouldn't look at him, wanted nothing to do with Henry, but Henry kept running, and asking, and pleading. There locked doors, and keys, and jewels, and maps, and crests, and stones, and cranks, and none of it made sense, yet it all seemed so necessary. _I have all the keys to the puzzle._

Blackness. Henry couldn't see anymore, but he could feel and touch and smell. And listen. There was a muffled heartbeat. It sounded like somebody breathing underwater. Henry felt a hot wetness all over his body, and his blood was boiling. And in the blackness he was aware of a figure, much larger than him, standing over him like a willow tree. The figure was watching, always watching, and waiting, and protecting, like that was its purpose from birth.

"The S-Type," a gruff voice said, piercing the black.

A moment of hope cut through Henry like a knife. He tried to wade through the water, to find the voice, but the figure bent down and put its huge, thick arm around him, trapping him inside. Henry struggled and screamed, he wanted out, he always wanted out, but there was nothing he could do.

"Codename: Sentinel," the voice continued, "Improved over the prototype, but still not perfect. Dump it out with the rest. We'll start again."

Henry felt a great strain behind him. The grip around him was released. The figure was being pulled away by a great, heavy force, one beyond its control, and Henry tried grasping at it, to save it. The figure was gone in an instance, and Henry was alone again, wading the black.

Time was still passing.

---

Chris wished that he could tell Leon that the sweep had been a waste of time, because it was. No zombies, or survivors, or even any relevant documents were found along the second floor of the R.P.D. It did serve as a spooky reminder of how unfailingly difficult it was to get anywhere in the building, but nonetheless, it gave Leon peace of mind.

They arrived at the men's locker room with the restrained excitement of kids in a candy store. Chris practically ripped the kevlar off of him as he discarded it on the floor.

"Hey, easy sailor," Leon said, "We still need to check if there's water running."

Both men headed toward the shower area, which was a small, white-tiled room. Unlike their showers at the A.U.P.S. base, the showers at the R.P.D. hung straight off the ceiling in clumps. It meant that if more than four officers showered at a time, they would have to group together rather closely. Chris recalled many a time when his and Enrico Marini's asses touched accidentally, or the incident where his hand grazed the surprisingly large penis of Forest Speyer. It became a running joke within S.T.A.R.S.; every time the team took a shower together there was always the expectation that Chris would grope one of them somehow.

Leon pulled one of the shower levers, and had to jump back as a large spray of water rained down upon him. He looked to Chris, whose face displayed a huge, dopey smile.

"I'm starting to think this whole thing is a scheme of yours to get me naked and alone with you," Leon beamed as he began to undress.

"You got me," Chris admitted, pulling off his undershirt and unbuttoning his combat pants, "I'm like a sexy, evil genius."

"You got the evil part right," replied Leon, who dodged a boot Chris hefted at him.

They set their weapons and clothes on the bench nearest to the shower room. Chris found a dusty bottle of shower gel as he scoured the towels for lockers, and waved it at Leon.

"Looks old, but… soap never expires, right?" he asked.

Leon shrugged and stepped under the cool fountain of water. Chris joined in next to him and pulled the adjacent shower lever – but no water came. He tried the next, and the next, and the next levers, but none seemed to work. None except the shower that Leon was standing under. Chris gave him a sort of _Eh, what can you do_ hang-dog kind of look, a look Leon was accustomed to when they were roommates and he had just caught Chris sneaking brownies out of the fridge.

Leon spit out a mouthful of water, "All part of your evil scheme."

Chris chuckled back and nudged Leon aside. He hadn't shared a single shower with anyone since that time with Billy; and Chris wasn't all that surprised to find he was much more at ease with Leon. It's not that he didn't like being around Billy, far from it. But with Leon, there was no real expectation that something – _something­­_- would happen. He was just a friend.

_Just a friend, yeah. A friend you have sex dreams about._

"And just what are you mulling over, exactly?" Leon asked suspiciously.

"Oh," Chris recovered, as he squirted some shower gel into his palm, "Nothing."

It wasn't the first time in recent memory that Leon had caught Chris spacing out like that, and it worried him a lot. In the past Leon was able to talk about such things with him, but lately, for some odd reason, he just found Chris to be somewhat unapproachable. In fact, the forty five minutes they had spent alone together in Replica Raccoon was the longest they had been alone in weeks.

"So uh," Leon started, unsure of where exactly he was going, "Has everything – I mean, I know with this island, everything's been so strange – but are you – is everything with you-?"

Chris was halfway through soaping up his torso when he was struck with a pang of worry.

_Has Leon been noticing something about me? About how… about how I…_

"I mean, when you're this close to somebody," Leon explained, "It's hard not to notice when something's- I mean, we used to be able to talk, Chris. I feel like we don't do that enough anymore. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Chris felt his stomach tighten with embarrassment. He had been so wrapped up in his own stupid mind, it hadn't once occurred to him that he might have been leaving those he cared about, and who cared about him, in the cold.

"Yeah," Chris replied, guiltily, "No, you're right. I'm sorry. We should talk more. I miss that."

He passed the gel to Leon, who squirted it directly onto his chest.

"No time like the present."

The heavy feeling of worry that was inside Chris didn't seem to want to budge.

_Well, I want to be honest with him. Leon's my best friend. But what if he doesn't understand?_

"There are…" Chris began, "There are these, I've been having these… Lately I've just been… feeling… certain things."

The sudden emotional release of what he had been locking up inside for so long was such a relief to Chris, that he felt a twinge of pleasure in his penis. He wasn't sure if it was the water or the soap – or more accurately, Leon and the water and the soap – but Chris knew he couldn't let Leon see him with a chubby. Not now.

Leon ran his soapy hands across his chest and his abs and shrugged.

"Like what kind of things?"

"Like," Chris stalled, "Like… just… feelings and… thoughts that I didn't… know I was capable of having before. Do you – do you kinda know what I'm getting at?"

Leon considered that statement as he looked down to soap up his thighs – and it was then that he saw that Chris was sporting a semi-erection. Chris was standing at an angle, as if in an effort to hide it, and Leon suddenly began to understand everything Chris was saying. Leon straightened his back and puffed out his chest.

"I think so," he replied.

Chris nodded, "Yeah, like, all these new feelings, they're so strange – but – you kinda like them, in a way, right?"

Leon nodded back. "Right."

"You really understand how I'm feeling?" Chris asked. There was a lightness in his voice, like a childish wonder, over finally finding somebody who understood.

"I-I do," Leon stammered, "Like how you begin to notice things about yourself, too. And how strange and exciting all these new thoughts are…"

He didn't realise it until he was doing it, but Leon was leaning in closer to Chris. And Chris, so amazed that he was able to find someone who understood, was leaning in closer to Leon. There was a strong rush of water between them, but neither seemed to care. All that mattered was that they were in that moment together, understanding each other completely.

Their lips touched, briefly, agonisingly, and they both pulled apart at the same time. Time seemed to stand still as seconds became their own eternities, and it was broken only when Chris managed to find the words.

"Leon, I-"

A sudden clang from the locker room pulled both man's attention away from the other. It sounded like somebody, or something, had banged into a locker, and was now running away.

"Hey! Who's there?" Leon shouted.

Leon and Chris dashed out of the shower room and stopped to listen. The footsteps found the door at the other end of the locker room, and then the door opened and closed.

"Shit!" Leon said, as he went to run after. Chris grabbed his arm frantically, and pulled him back in step.

"What are you doing?" Leon shrieked.

"Our uniforms, Leon!" Chris shrieked back.

Leon's eyes lowered to the bench where they had both put their things. Their weapons and clothes were gone.

---

Billy pounded the locked door with his fist, but there was no give. That boy – whoever he was – had locked it. The presence of the kid – _looks about 18, gaunt as hell, like he hasn't eaten or seen the sun in a week _– shocked Billy, he had to admit. He was expecting monsters and slimy mutations, but a scared, frail looking teenager was something else entirely.

The lock was metal, and Billy didn't want to waste a bullet and risk the danger of shooting the lock. He had known too many comrades who had made the mistake and died as a result of the blowback; it definitely wasn't as easy or safe as it looked in the movies. But Billy needed to get through, and his resolve only strengthened when he saw that kid back into the top of the stair and take the plunge after it.

_Could be hurt bad. He doesn't look infected, just scared. Fuck, how am I gonna get there?_

He turned the other way and began sprinting through the corridor. Billy was surprised and relieved that he didn't encounter any other Armed Lickers during his quick sweep through the school; though he was more than disenchanted with that other monster he came upon. That weird armless thing with the fanged chest that opened like a secret compartment – that was enough to make him want to retire. And in addition to that, it was unlike anything Billy had studied at A.U.P.S., which meant that Umbrella had probably cooked up a number of other original and wildly unpredictable bioweapons on the island.

_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the last thing I need. Oh, scratch that – a possibly injured and incapacitated civilian is the last thing I need._

Billy rounded a corner in the hall and toward another set of stairs. This one was marked 'STAIRWAY 1B'. If he could reach the first floor and double back toward where that kid had fallen, Billy would be able to reach him before one of the bio-nasties would.

His feet pounded the stairs as he ran down, and as Billy reached the landing – he was immediately stopped. A little girl, blonde and strange looking, was standing before him with one hand stretched out. A look of both determination and anger was clear across her face.

"Halt immediately," the girl commanded.

"Who the-?" Billy said, but stopped before he cursed, "Who are you? Are you hurt? Where are your parents?"

He didn't sound as calm as he had liked, but there was something about this girl that unsettled him. Aside from a couple of stains on her white dress, she didn't appear to be hurt or in any sort of distress at all. If anything, she seemed completely in control of the situation.

"You are not to pass until you tell me of your intentions with him," the girl stated.

"What? What are you talking about? What are you doing in- You have to come with me, immediately. It's not safe here."

Billy went to take her hand, but the girl took a defensive step back.

"I will do no such thing. State your intentions with the boy."

"What boy?" Billy asked, bewildered, "You mean – that kid with the flashlight?"

"He is not to be hurt in any way," said the girl, "And you will not touch him."

"Miss, I'm with the Anti-Umbrella Paramilitary Squad," explained Billy as calmly as he could, "I'm not here to hurt anybody. Something happened on this island – I don't know what – I need to get you and that boy to safety."

"He is perfectly safe here," the girl sneered, "And you are to leave the premises immediately. Or face severe consequences."

"Severe consequences? What are you-"

The girl silenced him with a simple wave of her hand. She raised a finger further down the hall and tilted her head to the side.

"You want the boy? You'll have to go through him."

Billy followed the direction of her finger and saw the most horrifying demon yet.

_No. THIS is the last thing I need._

"Stanley," the girl yawned, "Kill the intruder."

---

Carlos had to stop for a second. It wasn't that the journey had winded him; his campaign as an U.B.C.S. soldier in Kenya was far worse. No, it was the sudden appearance of Diner 13, a local grease restaurant off Alden street, where Carlos had met ex-S.T.A.R.S. member Jill Valentine for the first time. He had to admit, it was startling to see the restaurant not surrounded by blood and flaming wreckage; but then again, it was startling to see the entire city itself in such a non-apocalyptic state.

"Everything okay?" Kevin asked, noticing Carlos' expression.

"Yeah, I just…" began Carlos, waving a hand in front of his face, "I just need a minute."

Kevin slowed to a stop and watched as Carlos leaned against the front door of the restaurant.

"Lotta memories coming back to the forefront, you know?"

Kevin glanced up at the restaurant's sign, and then back to his troubled comrade.

"I didn't know you liked eating here."

"No," Carlos shook his head, "I mean hell, I've never set foot in this place before it became Zombie Town. I just – I – I met Jill here."

Kevin didn't mean to, but he frowned immediately at the mention of her name. He had met Jill a couple of times - _seems like a nice girl, even if she does dress like a hooker_ – and liked her well enough, but she had become a subject of tension within A.U.P.S., if only for her brief romantic connections to Carlos and Chris.

"Carlos," Kevin sighed, "You act like she's the last woman on earth sometimes."

Carlos stared at his shoes in an effort to appear nonchalant, but he knew it wasn't working. Kevin leaned up against the door next to him and crossed his arms.

"Honestly, man," he said, "You've spent so much time hurting over her, I can tell. But it's not worth it. That was years ago."

"I know," Carlos conceded, "I know, I know. But-"

Kevin waited, but Carlos couldn't come up with a reply. In truth, Carlos knew exactly how pathetic it was to pine for a woman that long, but none of the other guys really knew how much Jill had meant to him. That is, except for Chris.

The night before, Kevin and Carlos had a long talk. The awkwardness of Carlos catching Kevin and Leon in the act had passed, and both were able to open up to each other in ways neither had thought possible. Kevin talked about his bisexuality, and how he hadn't acted upon it in years. The last time he had done so was with a professor from Raccoon University, during the T-Virus outbreak. It was a story that stunned Carlos to hear, not because it was about two men having sex, but two men having sex in the midst of a zombie rampage.

In return, Carlos had spoken to Kevin at length about Chris – about the feelings of jealousy and resentment, about how childish and angry Carlos admitted he was – and it made him feel good to get it out in the open. Kevin encouraged Carlos to make up with Chris before they left for the island. But when it came time to gather at the helipad, Carlos was too nervously tongue-tied to say anything meaningful, let alone make amends.

"But I will, soon," Carlos had promised.

"Yeah," Kevin had replied, "I hope you will."

Carlos heaved himself off the door of Diner 13 and breathed heavily.

"You know," he said, "Maybe I should've said something to Chris before we set off. What if something happens to one of us?"

"Well," Kevin considered, "You could say something over the radio."

The thought of a voice-over apology made Carlos chuckle. Kevin smiled back.

"No really, Carlos. I think it'd go over well."

"Right," Carlos laughed, "He'd just beat me up in the shower again."

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't like it," said Kevin, "His soapy wet body draped over yours, all that physical contact, all that _grunting­-"_

Carlos had to hold a hand to his stomach, as if to ease it from his fit of laughter.

"You're sick, dude."

"Not as sick as-"

When Carlos saw the tiny red dot creep over Kevin's forehead, he knew he had precious seconds to act. He dove and shoved Kevin out of the way immediately, knowing it'd put him directly in the line of fire, but not caring, needing Kevin to be safe. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, he vaguely heard the muffled panic of Kevin's voice, a gun in the distance being fired and then - Carlos felt an incredible pin point of pressure punch through his right lung. It was as if a set of jaws had opened up inside of his body, unleashing waves of hot pain. He felt bone and tissue and muscle collapse inside of him; it all happened so slow, yet so quickly, and Carlos fell to the ground in a convulsing heap.

"_**CARLOS**_!" Kevin screamed, as anguish filled his body.

Kevin ripped off his mask, and desperately began unstrapping his kevlar vest. He was wearing an undershirt underneath.

_I can rip it off, apply it to his wound, he's not gonna die, he's gonna be fine, he's gonna be fine, fucking hell nobody is gonna die on me-_

Kevin grabbed at his undershirt by the neckline and tore it in half in one easy motion. He ripped it off his body, quickly bunched it up and pressed it over Carlos' chest. Crimson soaked through the material in a second. Carlos was coughing up blood, and his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. His mouth was moving, and it seemed he was trying to say something.

"It's okay, buddy," Kevin said frantically as he clasped his hand over Carlos', "I'm here, you're not alone, I promise, you're not-"

"Ch—Chris," Carlos managed to say, "Ch—tell-"

"What?" implored Kevin, his voice cracking, "Tell him what?"

"Said- s-sorry."

With those final words out of his mouth, Carlos let his head fall back onto the pavement, and died.

"Olivera?" Kevin winced, "Amigo? Wake up, man. Wake up, please-"

"That was a stroke of luck, wasn't it," a cool, collected voice suddenly said.

Kevin whipped his head up, startled, by the sudden presence of a very tall, very serious looking man standing several feet away. He was dressed rather snazzily in dress pants, a black blazer, and gloves. His thin lips and high nose were complimented by dark sunglasses, and a shock of short, platinum blonde hair. He was thin, but toned, and undoubtedly very frightening.

Albert Wesker lowered his sunglasses an inch off his face to inspect the scene before him.

"Mr. Kevin Ryman, I presume. You and I have much to discuss."


	7. The Doom That Came To Raccoon City

When the beast named Stanley stepped out of the shadows and into Billy's line of vision, Billy had a sudden, urgent need to go to the bathroom. This was certainly no man – no ordinary man – ordinary men didn't have thick, ropey veins bulging out of their grey-brown skin. Ordinary men weren't mammoth, 7-foot tall monstrosities with wide, bleeding grins plastered onto their bulbous heads. And above all, ordinary men didn't drag gigantic battle axes behind them in elementary schools.

_A Tyrant – some kind of Tyrant, it has a weapon – holy Jesus – _

Billy had faced only one Tyrant in his life; it was weak and jittery, a prototype, but it still gave he and Rebecca the fight of their lives. The creature before him exhibited no signs of immediate weakness, no exposed organ to target. It was fearsome, absolute, deathless. And it was walking towards him.

_Shoot it, shoot it, shoot it!_

Barely aware that he raised his machine gun, Billy fired. The immense recoil of his weapon shook him out of his dumbfounded fear, and forced him to remain focused. The blast of his machine gun peppered the beast's chest with black holes that sputtered deep red. But the Tyrant-thing kept walking, as if the bullet wounds in its torso were no more bothersome than a ketchup stain.

Billy raised his gun higher, towards its head …_Shoot out its eyes, do SOMETHING _… and was taken aback when the creature shielded its face with its left arm. Bullets punched into the thing's forearm, and when Billy ran out of clips, the monster reared back its bald head and let out a scream of fury unlike anything Billy had ever heard. The Tyrant thing took one huge step forward, and Billy felt the ground quake beneath his feet. He reached toward his thigh for his handgun, his last remaining weapon. Well, second last, there was still…

_…my grenade._

Each member of A.U.P.S. was outfitted with a flash grenade to stun opponents, but Billy had secretly replaced his with an incendiary grenade before lift-off. _A flash of light isn't gonna save your ass when you're cornered by zombies_, Billy had surmised, _But fire? Just might._

The Tyrant thing turned a half-circle and then, suddenly, abruptly, swung its gigantic axe toward Billy. He had a split second to react, and dodged to the side immediately, avoiding the half-moon blade as it crashed into a side wall. The monster wedged it out of the wall in a cloud of broken plaster and dust, and Billy saw his opportunity. He aimed at the thing's face and fired – once, twice, three times. The first two bullets hit its left cheek, which erupted in sprays of heavy blood. The creature recoiled, and the third bullet missed and hit the wall behind it instead.

Billy backed away, his heart pounding, trying to aim at the horrible thing's grin. Before he could get a proper target, the Tyrant took several running steps forward – _faster than anything its size I've seen, holy sh ­_ - closing the distance between itself and Billy in two quick seconds.

Before Billy knew what was happening, the Tyrant wrapped its gigantic, thick fingers around his neck and lifted him up into the air, until his head was almost touching the ceiling. Choking, Billy struggled and kicked at the beast, seeing for the first time its hideous face close-up. It was even uglier than he thought; there were stitches, scars, and oozing scabs all along its forehead down to its pointed chin.

The Tyrant's fingers began to close down on Billy's neck, and he knew he only had seconds to act. He reached frantically to his belt and unhooked his incendiary grenade. Billy brought it to his teeth and yanked the pin clean off.

_If this kills me, so fucking be it._

Billy shoved the grenade into the Tyrant's gaping mouth, and the reaction was more instant than he thought. The beast was clearly stunned by this, more confused than frightened. It swung around for a couple of beats, and then with panicked anger, threw Billy off to the side, into the right corridor. Billy landed a lot harder than he anticipated; something in his chest felt broken, or cracked.

_Doesn't matter – just run – just go get the boy – just run NOW!_

As he scrambled to find his footing, the thought of the little girl's safety briefly crossed his mind. But as he stood, Billy couldn't see anyone else in the corridor aside from the Tyrant.

_Girl must've run off. All for the better, anyway –_

Billy sprinted down the hall, past the writhing beast, and toward anywhere that might shield him from the incoming blast. But he was off by a few moments; a huge explosion rang behind him – a sudden and very striking wall of heat rose and pushed outward, knocking Billy off the ground and several feet forward. He landed with another hard thud, further aggravating the pain in his torso. He took the brunt of the impact on his shoulder, however, and Billy agonisingly felt the radio mounted on it shatter to pieces.

For several seconds all he saw was white, and all he heard was a far-off ringing in his ears. And he stayed there, on the floor, and waited for his heart to stop punching its way out of his chest. Stars and bright lights swirled before his eyes, and eventually, he came back down to earth.

_The boy… find the boy. Get him out of here. The girl, too._

He had to put the safety of others above his own; that was always his motto. It was what drove him to stick to Rebecca Chambers' side so many years before, even though there was a good chance she'd turn him in. But his faith in her paid off, and hopefully, his faith in that boy would pay off, too.

_If I can fucking stand up, that is._

As much as it hurt, Billy had to ignore his pain and will himself to stand up. A huge wall of smoke had risen in the air, further down the corridor he could see the smoldering remains of large chunks of wall and plaster on fire. And amidst the wreckage was the Tyrant thing, laying still on the floor. If his own experience, as well as anecdotes from his A.U.P.S. comrades was any indication, Billy knew it was only a matter of time until the creature would rise again. He didn't have any time to waste.

Billy hoofed it down the hall and turned when it came upon a junction. His insides were still trembling from his nearly fatal encounter, but he had to push all that away. There was a civilian to save, and he couldn't let anything distract him.

_Not even creepily smiling Tyrants with axes – no sir._

He pushed his way through hall, to, hall, to hall, faintly noticing a room marked 'TEACHER'S LOUNGE' along his way – until he came upon the bottom landing of Stairway 2A. Laying like a crumpled doll was the boy, vulnerable and unconscious. Up close he looked even frailer and thinner than what Billy had seen earlier, and there was a large bruise on the side of his forehead.

"Good Christ," Billy whispered to himself.

He knelt down and placed two fingers on the boy's heart. There was a strong, even pulse. At Billy's touch, the boy's eyes opened, and looked up blearily.

"Who… who are…?" the kid managed.

Billy frowned; the boy looked weak, and it appeared to hurt him when he talked.

"My name is Lieutenant Coen," he explained, "I'm here to rescue you."

It sounded a little cheesy coming out of his mouth, but Billy figured the boy could've used some good news. The teen, instead, responded by resting his head back onto the ground and passing out.

_Hope it's not a concussion. I need to bring him to a safehouse – somewhere where he can just rest while I figure things out. Without a Tyrant on our asses, if possible._

Billy recalled the teacher's lounge he passed on his way over, and it seemed as good a place to start as any. Billy holstered his gun and bent down to pick the boy up – but one small detail stopped him. The kid was_handcuffed_, rather inexplicably, and his arms were at his front.

_What – don't tell me this guy is a criminal?_

Billy had to admit it made him slightly weary, but he couldn't just leave the poor boy on the floor. And besides, he too, had once been found wearing handcuffs, and he was innocent. It didn't prove anything about the boy, but still, Billy couldn't help but empathise with the kid. Just a little.

---

Henry was swimming in the darkness again, he had been swimming for so long, until he finally found the surface. He gasped for breath, thankful for the air, but at the same time fearful of what new horrors were to lie ahead.

This time he was stumbling through an endless parade of doors. There was an exit somewhere, there had to be, but Henry was helplessly lost. The moans of the dead surrounded him, footsteps, screams, air raid sirens, heavy breathing – everywhere – but nowhere – _God, somebody save me, please –_

He opened the final door and was stunned at what he came across. Henry was standing in a plain white room, alone, except for –

"You," Henry said, accusatorily.

The strange little girl, the one who seemed so close and clingy with that huge monster, 'Stanley', was standing before him.

"My name is Wilhelmina," the girl replied, "My sister calls me Mina."

"Who are you?"

"I just told you."

"No, not your name," Henry spat, "What are you doing here? Why did you – why did you call me an angel? That monster – why do you call him Stanley?"

"Questions, questions," Mina sang. She did a little twirl, then locked eyes with Henry, "You are not to be asking questions."

"Why the hell not?" he shot back.

"Because," Mina began, "You can set us free. All of us."

"Who?"

"We are the ones who walk this earth, but do not belong on it," Mina said, "You, and me, and the Reaper."

"Reaper?" Henry asked, "You mean… Stanley?"

Mina recoiled at the suggestion, as if she had just been spat upon.

"Our dear Stanley, how dare you speak of him in such a way!" she yelled, "The Reaper is like you – an angel fallen from heaven. But the path he chooses to walk is a… darker one."

"I don't understand any of this," Henry said, becoming more frustrated by the second.

"As I have said, it is not your place to understand. All that I require of you is action."

"What am I supposed to do?"

Mina smiled, and suddenly the room they were in was another hallway, stretching out to infinity. She turned her back to Henry and began to skip away.

She lightly replied, "That's the question."

Henry watched her leave, powerless to follow. The darkness was creeping up on him again.

---

Billy carried Henry back to the teacher's lounge with no interruption or danger. Not to mention Henry was incredibly light to carry; if Billy had to guess, he could easily bench-press two of him. He had found the ID in the kid's wallet, which gave Henry's name and age. It had helped to humanize him a bit, but Billy was still rather suspicious about the fact that Henry was handcuffed. Billy carried a universal handcuff key in his belt – all A.U.P.S. members did – but he wasn't releasing Henry until the kid woke up and was able to prove his innocence.

The teacher's lounge was a spacious, if somewhat rectangular room with a long conference table to one side, and comfy looking couches and sofa chairs to the other. There was, curiously, a table at the rear of the lounge that supported an antique typewriter. The lounge connected to a small kitchen as well as employee-only washrooms, which meant they at least had water and a place to piss. Above all, it was empty, which meant it was safe. There was only one door to secure, which Billy did not only with the door lock, but also by pressing a heavy oak bookshelf up against the frame.

Billy placed Henry on the couch and began to weigh his options. His radio was damaged, probably beyond repair. Leon's words rang through his mind – _Turn your radio off, and you're as good as dead _­ - but Billy wasn't gonna be nearly as grim about it. If Henry was clean, Billy would be able to get him, and that girl, wherever she was, and lead them toward their helicopter at Lowkey's Dock. He could use the radio on the chopper, or at least wait for the rest there –

Henry murmured softly and turned over on the sofa, interrupting Billy's thoughts. Billy walked over and leaned against the couch, suddenly aware of the pulsating pain that surged through his skull. In fact, his entire body ached; he was just now beginning to recognize it.

_Here I am with a potentially dangerous civilian, in a room surrounded with skittery armless things and a gigantic Tyrant with a literal axe to grind. And I've got a fucking migraine._

It was much worse than a migraine in fact; it was as if something was eating his brain out from the inside. Billy had recovered from that Tyrant attack quickly. Too quickly. He ignored the warning signs his body was giving in an effort to rescue Henry, and now, it was catching up to him, fast. The migraine in his head, the white-hot slices of pain in his torso and shoulder; they were all conspiring together, forcing Billy to his knees.

_No, no, I can't black out now, please, I can't –_

But Billy was too weak to fight against the inevitable, and so he dropped to the floor, and closed his eyes.

---

Wesker cracked his knuckles. He wasn't even close to tired, but that poor, stupid man; he was close to his dropping point. Wesker managed to knock out that man, that _Kevin_, and take him to the Presbyterian church off Lodell Boulevard. It was empty, all the buildings in this fake town were, but there was a dramatic elegance about it that Wesker rather liked. And there was nothing more dramatic or elegant than a tied up, half-beaten-to-death man in a Presbyterian church.

Kevin was bound by thick layers of rope and restrained to a wooden chair at the front altar, which stood before two separate, long rows of pews. Every part of him, what felt like every part of him, was screaming with pain. He could feel the blood trickling down his forehead. He knew he was in some deep shit, but he had to remain calm. He'd get out of it eventually, he had to.

Wesker hadn't bothered to cover Kevin's mouth. He wanted to hear the ex-Raccoon cop scream, wanted to hear every pang and note of anger in his tortured voice. And if anyone were around to hear it, that would be fine. Wesker would just as easily take care of them, too.

When Wesker was aiming at Kevin through his custom sniper rifle outside of Diner 13, he never could have predicted that the other one – _Olivera, was it? ­_– would throw himself before the bullet. Though he couldn't say he was exactly surprised; all the boy and girl scouts who had rallied against Umbrella had that same cloying, self-sacrificing goody two-shoe-edness that drove Wesker crazy. But it was all for the better, he had planned to kill each and every one of the A.U.P.S. members eventually.

All of that was the cherry ontop of the sundae, as far as Wesker was concerned. He knew why he was really on this forsaken island. Project Genesis was unpleasant, and by far one of Umbrella's worst failures, but there was one key item that Wesker needed badly, especially if he were to go through with his plans to resurrect Umbrella under his control.

"So," Wesker said casually, leaning down to Kevin's eye level, "I hear you were one of the few survivors of the Raccoon City destruction."

Kevin said nothing, but Wesker forged on regardless.

"You must have felt so exhilarated to have survived that," Wesker continued, "Must have felt… immortal, almost."

Wesker tensed his knuckles again, allowing himself to feel the power of his blood surging through him.

"And here you are," Wesker motioned around him, "Back in the city once again. Oh, no, it's not the real Raccoon – but look at the craftsmanship, the effort Umbrella took to prepare this second city. What does it feel like, Kevin, to gaze upon the very town you almost died in?"

Kevin remained silent. Wesker placed a hand on his lap.

"And how do you think it's going to feel," he began, "To finally die here?"

Kevin wasn't letting himself take the bait. He was stronger than that – he knew he was stronger than that. Albert Wesker was one of the most, if not THE most, hated man amongst A.U.P.S., and the only thing that Kevin was going on was the imminent satisfaction of being able to prove Wesker wrong.

Seeing that Kevin was remaining even and calm, Wesker stood and straightened out his spine.

"Kevin Ryman," Wesker stated, "Tell me where the Heaven Virus is."

There was no response. Wesker felt himself tense only slightly, but he regained.

"Where is the Heaven Virus," he asked again, his voice raised a notch higher.

And still, Kevin didn't respond. Wesker figured that it was unlikely for such a low ranking officer to know the whereabouts of such a thing, but if there was even a slight possibility that Ryman knew the location of it, Wesker didn't want to let it pass him by.

"This is all very fun," Wesker sighed, "But I'm afraid that if you wear my patience, you'll find yourself in a very unpleasant situation. A very unpleasant one indeed."

Wesker walked closer to the man, and leaned in so far that his and Kevin's lips practically touched.

"You're going to die anyway," Wesker seethed with a sudden venom, "But if you wish to remain the stone guardian, so be it. You and I are going to have a bit of fun, Kevin. Aren't we?"

Kevin closed his eyes and felt all of his insides shudder. Wesker smiled at this, pleased to have finally spurred a reaction.

"You are going to wish you had co-operated with me. You will begging for your life. I am the worst person to anger, my friend, but I'm afraid we've already crossed that bridge. You, and all of your friends will die screaming."

Wesker stood up again and gave a tight, humorless smile. Kevin looked up at him with a striking combination of anger and horror.

"Now then," Wesker sing-songed, "How many fingers shall we say you lose until you tell me what I want to hear?"


	8. Sentinel

Henry awoke to a room he couldn't remember being in, and his confusion was only exacerbated when he saw the soldier man slumped over at the end of the sofa. He – _or it, whatever _- appeared to be unconscious, and possibly hurt. The last thing Henry could remember was running from this person, and here he was, trapped in a room with his pursuer.

_Maybe he brought me here to torture me. Or rape me. Or kill me…_

Henry looked down and observed himself. He didn't feel any pain, strangely, considering he had taken just a one-story tumble down a flight of stairs. In fact, he felt fine. Rejuvenated, almost, like one would feel after a refreshing nap.

_Alright, so the soldier man didn't hurt me. Guess he passed out before he was able to. _

Henry surveyed the area he was in; it appeared to be what he'd imagine the teacher's lounge of the school would look like, with the comfy chairs and the kitchen. He searched silently through drawers and cabinets, finding nothing but ink ribbons for a typewriter. There was a gallon jug of water in the kitchen that he helped himself to, as he was desperate for hydration. There was little else of value, save for a kitchen knife in the sink, which Henry quickly took.

_Now I'm not completely helpless. Imagine that._

The knife made him feel a bit better; if the soldier man woke up and attacked him, he'd at least have a way to defend himself. He directed his attention back to the strange, Kevlar-clad man unconscious by the couch. Henry edged nervously toward the slumped figure, his mind racing with frightened thoughts and questions.

_What do I do? Wake him up? No – idiot, don't wake him up. Take his weapons. Maybe take off that mask – see what kind of monster he is underneath._

With the knife in one trembling hand, Henry bent down and grabbed at the gun strapped to the soldier man's right thigh. After releasing it from its holster and tossing it to the side, he groped the utility belt, searching for any other possible weapon. Aside from two ammo clips, and what looked like a spare battery for something, there was nothing else of use.

_Okay. Step 1 complete. Onto step 2…_

Henry settled his weary eyes on the soldier man's mask. The orange-red lenses were scary, no doubt, but Henry wasn't exactly sure what lied underneath would be any more comforting. Breathing deep, he set his knife down by his side, carefully, and reached over to the figure's face. Henry let his fingers feel along the neck and jaw line, searching for the separation between mask and neck.

_He's warm. So soldier man is alive…_

When Henry finally found the mask's flap, he carefully lifted it off the figure's head and held his breath. Underneath wasn't a hideous mutation or beast, but a man. A remarkably attractive one, with a pale complexion and dark, thick hair. The man had fine, even lips, a chiseled jaw, and symmetrical eyes; he resembled one of those intense looking models one would see in an ad campaign for an expensive cologne. Henry was taken aback with just _how_ attractive he found this man, something he wasn't expecting at all.

_Alright, alright, he's hot, whatever. Let's try considering some important things before you ask him out for drinks: who in the hell is he, and what is he doing here? _

The man stirred suddenly, and Henry leapt back in response. He grabbed the kitchen knife and held it before him; the one thing separating himself from what could be an incredibly dangerous person.

The man with the name 'COEN' stitched onto his uniform opened his eyes uncomfortably and rose – very slowly – and then lied down back again with a thunderous cough. He looked dizzy and weak, and something inside Henry opened up; a knowledge of something, that was hidden before, but it was becoming clearer to him by the second.

_He's hurt… he's hurt bad. Check for signs of a concussion, his memory, see if he's experience fatigue and nausea, find out his range of motion… _

Henry crept towards the man and sat silently beside him. He finally saw 'Coen's' eyes, which were piercing and masculine, but dazed, and unfocused.

"Are… are you okay?" Henry asked timidly.

The man nodded and swallowed something rising in his throat, "I'll be fine, just let me-"

He started to sit up again, but Henry placed a hand on his chest and eased him back down.

"Rest for a minute, okay?" Henry said, his heart fluttering uneasily, "Tell me your name."

"Bil- William Coen," the man answered, "Friends call me Billy."

"What year is it?"

"2004."

Henry continued to ask him, as gently as he could, other questions to gauge his state of mind. Billy answered Henry's questions slowly, but with no confusion, and seemed to be okay. A little dizzy, but he didn't appear to have a concussion, nor did he show any signs of stroke or heart attack. Henry wetted a cloth he found in the employee washrooms and cleaned some of the cuts and scrapes Billy had on his face and neck. After a few minutes, Billy pushed himself into a sit, and turned a weak grin Henry's way.

"You a… a medical student, or something?" Billy asked.

"No…" Henry replied, uneasily, "At least, I don't think so."

Billy shook his head, perhaps in an effort to dispel his dizziness. When his eyes refocused, he saw the knife clutched in Henry's white-knuckled hands.

"You know, if you're gonna play doctor, I'd recommend a less imposing instrument."

Henry looked down at his knife, then up again, feeling a flush of high color in his cheeks. Billy wasn't what Henry had expected at all – a handsome, wise-cracking, somewhat playful man, not a slobbering monster thirsty for his blood.

"I'm not here to hurt you, I promise," explained Billy, "I'm a member of the Anti Umbrella Paramilitary Squad. We're here to rescue survivors."

"Survivors?" Henry exclaimed, "You mean, there are other people here?"

"Well, none that I've encountered so far," Billy replied, "I split from the rest of the team; started investigating this school. There was – oh. There was that girl."

Henry raised an eyebrow at this, "What girl?"

"This, uh, this kinda weird looking little girl," Billy said, scratching the back of his head, "About 8 or 9 years old. British accent."

"Mina," Henry said under his breath, almost involuntarily.

"You know her?"

"No…" Henry went on, "At least, I don't think so…"

"Why do you keep saying that?" Billy asked, "And while I'm the one asking questions, how about you explain to me how you got arrested?"

Billy's tone had turned from playful to moderately serious, and it made Henry's stomach drop. Henry didn't realise it before, but handcuffs made him look suspicious, not that it was anything he could help.

"I don't know," Henry breathed, "I woke up in the middle of this city, with no memory of who I am or what had happened to me. I didn't even know my name until I saw my own ID."

"Henry, is it?" Billy asked, and the boy nodded, "You're saying you… have amnesia?"

Henry shrugged, but conceded with a half hearted nod. He watched Billy's expression, which remained deliberately unreadable. The A.U.P.S. member appeared to be mulling over Henry's reliability, which Henry understood was tricky. He, after all, could easily have been lying, or a good actor, but Henry knew deep down that he had no idea who he was.

"Please," Henry pleaded, "I'm not lying to you. If I knew who I was – if I knew what was going on, I would tell you."

"Well," Billy replied with a furrowed brow, "You can't really say that for sure."

"I don't know," Henry said, "But what I do know is that I'm not lying to you. I don't know who I am. I don't know how this place got like this. I want to leave – I want to get out of here."

Billy considered himself a good judge of character, and to him, Henry appeared sincere. Or close to sincere, he wasn't 100. Nonetheless, if the boy was a liability, Billy was more than able to handle himself. Henry was after all, by Billy's estimation, maybe 120 pounds soaking wet.

"You're not the only one, kid," Billy replied, and Henry felt himself smile. Just a little.

Billy made a motion to stand, and Henry quickly rose to help him. As Billy got on his feet, Henry was reminded of why he had found the man so intimidating in the first place. Billy stood maybe 6 feet, 4 inches tall. Maybe higher with the combat boots he was wearing. Billy was big, too; muscular and fit, with a torso the size of a tree trunk. Henry, at 5 feet 10 inches, wasn't short by any means, but Billy was a Greek god compared to him.

_Definitely like something I'd see on a cover of Men's Fitness. No doubt about that…_

"Something wrong?" Billy asked the flustered looking Henry. The boy shook his head, though he was very clearly blushing.

"No, it's just…you're tall."

Billy had to force himself from cracking a grin, it had been a while since such a thing had been said to him. Billy had spent the better part of the year with four men of roughly the same height and build; he had almost forgotten what an imposing figure he could be to someone of smaller stature.

"You and me," Billy said, "We're getting out of this school."

Henry nodded curtly, and for the first time since he had woken up alone in the middle of the city, he felt like he was finally on his way to salvation.

---

If Leon had been with anybody but Chris, he would have considered his current situation to be, by far, the most humiliating experience of his life. There were no towels or spare uniforms in the locker room, or in any other room or office they searched. Leon and Chris were stark naked, and to make matters worse, it had seemed the R.P.D. had gotten much colder since they had stripped.

"It's the damndest thing," Chris remarked with a scoff, "First it's too hot, now it's too cold. It's like somebody's fucking with us intentionally."

Leon brought a hand to his frustrated face and tried to massage his headache away. It wasn't working, of course, but at least it had given him something to do. They were back in the sunken lobby area of the police department, having exhausted most of the rooms and halls of the RPD. The fact that they were naked was only the bitter cherry on top of the terrible sundae - their mysterious pursuer had all of their clothes and weapons, and whoever it was, they were making damn sure that neither of them would be able to follow.

"I just don't get it," Leon said, filming a hand away in frustration, "Out of all the things you could do. Steal our clothes? What is this guy, 12 years old?"

"Maybe it's a woman. Maybe she wanted us naked," Chris smirked, but he could tell from Leon's tight glare that he was in no mood for joking.

"This is funny to you, Cubby?"

"No, no, it's not funny. It's... certainly bizarre. And I've never noticed that square shaped birthmark on your inner thigh."

Leon felt his face grow hot. "Still not funny."

"I know it's not," Chris retorted, "But we have to make the best of a bad situation."

Chris leaned back against the receptionist's desk, affording Leon a clear, full view of Chris' muscular body.

_I guess Chris is right. It could be worse. I could be looking at a naked Barry right now._

Still, neither of them liked their circumstances that much. Especially without their weapons - the lack of firepower, most of all, is what made them feel naked.

"So what are we going to do now?" Chris asked. It wasn't sarcastic, but rather, an innocent plea for mobility.

"I don't know," Leon sighed, "But I do know that I'm fucking cold."

"I can tell."

"Hey," cried Leon, "I'm not the only experiencing shrinkage right now, smart-ass."

"Oh, and I'm so-" Chris stopped mid-sentence, his eyes catching sight of a strange figure on the second story balcony.

"What is it?" Leon asked quickly, looking toward where Chris' gaze was caught. He saw it too - a tall man in a bulky mercenary uniform. His face was obscured with a mask similar to A.U.P.S., but it was thinner, and the lenses over the eyes were opaque rather than orange-red. The mystery mercenary waved to them with two fingers, mockingly almost, and then broke into a run.

"Shit!" Chris yelled, and in an instance, the two naked men raced toward the ladder at the far end of the lobby that connected the first floor to the second. Leon threw his head back and watched the merc head toward the office at the far left end of the balcony.

"Move, move!" screamed Leon.

They reached the balcony and ran, not caring that their bare feet hurt against the cold parquet floor, or that they had no way of defending themselves should the mercenary be armed. All that mattered was finding somebody - anybody responsible for their current vulnerability.

---

Billy had just taken the handcuffs off of Henry when they both heard the low, guttural scream. It was wild and deep, echoing through the empty halls of the school like a stone skimming the surface of a pond. They had both just located a map, stuffed hastily into the drawer of a teacher's desk across the hall of the lounge. It represented a large step towards elation, but that scream halted them back to reality. And they both knew all too well what had made that sound. They needed to work, and they needed to work fast.

"According to this thing, we're right here," Billy explained quickly, as he pointed toward the classroom across the way from the teacher's lounge, "Which means we need to keep going down here… cross here… and go all the way around here, and that should bring us to the south exit."

Henry could feel his insides tighten at the prospect at this. It wasn't a terribly long route, but it did mean that facing those weird, nightmarish monsters would be unavoidable. He must have turned whiter than usual, for Billy shot him a quick, worried look.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Henry breathed, "I'm just… I hope we don't run into any… you know."

Billy replied with a grim nod. He had experience with B.O.W.s, but he was still terrified of facing them.

_Must be even tougher when you're new to all of this. And have no combat training. And are just out of high school…_

Still, Billy thought Henry was handling himself remarkably well. At least, much better than Billy imagined he would if were an amnesiac 18 year old trapped on an island of monsters. Even then, he could tell Henry was vulnerable, and scared. The way he clung to Billy's side the moment they exited the lounge; Billy could tell he was still very much a child.

"I can do this," Henry asserted, noticing the far-away look in Billy's eyes, "I'm young, but I can do this. I promise."

Billy raised an eyebrow, "Really? A pint-size like you?"

"Hey," Henry shot back, "My height happens to be considered normal."

"You implying my height is abnormal?"

"No," Henry relayed, "Not if you're a circus freak."

Billy had to admit he was taken aback; not because he was offended, but because Henry was so quick. Snappy, even. And certainly for a person who had just taken a one-story fall, Henry seemed to be in perfect health.

_Too perfect, maybe?_

If he had to guess, Billy would say the impact he had taken from the explosion was of roughly the same caliber as the impact Henry took from the fall, taking into account their different builds and presumed tolerance for pain. But Billy was the obviously damaged one – he was still a bit dizzy, his shoulder still hurt like hell, and there was a small but present seed of nausea burrowing in his stomach. Henry, on the other hand, was sprightly and active, eager to trade quips and get to business. In fact… _There was a bruise on his forehead. But – it's gone now…?_

"Henry," Billy began, "Let me ask you something. When I came upon you at the bottom of the stairwell, I saw that you had this bruise – this bruise on the side of your forehead."

"Oh?" said Henry, as he felt his forehead for it. But he didn't feel any tenderness or swelling; aside from a blemish near his left eyebrow.

"I don't feel it," Henry said, puzzled.

Billy nodded. "Exactly. It's not there anymore."

Henry patted his forehead again, as if he had missed it the first time, but he had to concede: there was no bruise. He distinctly remembered his head feeling like it would split open with pain before he had fallen into unconsciousness. But when Henry had woken up in the teacher's lounge, that pain had mysteriously vanished. He felt a little groggy from his experience, sure, but Billy had a point.

"Are you sure you saw a bruise?" Henry quizzed.

"Yeah," replied Billy, "It wasn't a shadow or anything, I saw it on your skin. It as a deep purple, kinda blackish."

Henry didn't have an answer for him, he was just as puzzled as Billy was. There was a moment of awkwardness that neither of them knew how to get through; both of their minds were too busy shuffling through what to say to each other. Henry didn't want Billy to distrust him - if anything he wanted the man to like him.

"Maybe... maybe I just heal fast," Henry shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, "I don't know. Does this really matter right now?"

"No," Billy shook his head, "You're right. I was just curious about it."

Billy felt a little sting of embarrassment for having used up the little time they had with a little minor nitpick like that, but still, there was something distinctly odd about the affair.

_Can't let it bother me now. I have a survivor to protect, and a squad to get back in touch with. Not to mention that girl, wherever the hell she is._

Billy went on to explain his plan to Henry. They'd get out of the school and head south toward the dock where the team chopper was. He would then radio the rest of his teammates, stock up on weapons and ammo and from there, they'd discuss rescuing the weird little girl, and then an extraction plan.

Billy would have thought his plan to essentially abandon that girl, Mina, if only for a little while, would have bothered Henry. But he saw, rather clearly, that Henry held no reservations about it. It wasn't as if they didn't want to see the little girl to safety, but she had appeared so oddly mature, and self-possessed, and... _so BRAVE_.. not to mention it was painfully obvious to both of them that there was some connection between Mina and that Tyrant creature. Billy figured, if that girl had managed to survive as long as she had up till this point, she could stand to be alone for another 15 or 20 minutes before Billy would be able to get help. After all, she always had that creepy smiling hulk to keep her company.

Henry and Billy tore through the hallways of the school with no hesitation. They were eager to escape it, to let go of it and let it fade from memory, like waking from a bad dream. Henry had to say, as set as his mind was on escaping, he couldn't ignore the small giddy thrill he felt ever since he and Billy had joined forces. It felt nice to no longer traverse this strange, haunted building alone, especially now that he was with a man who was more than capable of beating the shit out of anything that would cross their path. It was like having his own personal bodyguard, in a way.

_A hot bodyguard, that is. But - whatever - escape. That's what matters the most._

The sounds of their shoes pounding against the dirty linoleum floor served to remind them they were only steps closer to freedom: a few more hallways to pass through, a couple bends around the corner, and then-

Two dark shapes screamed out from the shadows, one pouncing on Henry and the other leaping toward Billy with snapping jaws. They were too quick to see at first, but then Billy saw they were two Armed Lickers; variations of Lickers who produced spindly-limbed arms from their throats, rather than snake-like tongues. Billy dodged the Armed Licker coming his way and let it hit the wall behind him. He brought up his handgun and aimed for the Licker who had trapped Henry; it had the boy pinned on the ground, its wide, gaping maw raining driblets of saliva onto his face. Billy fired twice, the first hitting the creature in its torso, the second shot going wild. It was enough to distract the monster, and Henry managed to get it off of him with a swift kick to the stomach.

Billy grabbed Henry by the hand and practically ripped him up to his feet, just as the second Armed Licker leapt into view. It jumped from the wall to the floor, rearing back its head to emit a shrill cry of hunger. Billy fired just as it tensed to jump, piercing its jaw and exposed brain with three well placed shots. It hit the floor with a weighty thud, quaking slightly as life ebbed away from its body.

Their relief was short lived - as the cry from the second Licker rung through the air. They both turned to face it, but just as it was about to jump, a heavy flash of silver seemed to split the air before them. Before either Billy or Henry knew what was going on, the Armed Licker was dead on the floor. In two separate halves.

"What the fuck-" Billy started, but he looked up and instantly understood what had happened. Henry followed his intense look and couldn't help but gasp.

Stanley, the Joker-smiley Tyrant was standing to the side, partially hidden in the shadow. In its hands it clutched its blood-stained battle axe; wielding it like a trophy of victory. The monster's gaze went from its fresh victim on the floor to the now panicked Billy and Henry, who began backing away slowly.

"Henry," Billy loudly whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Run. NOW!"

Their legs pumped hard as they cleared the rest of the hall, desperate to escape the steely glare of their monolithic pursuer. But Stanley stood still and watched them run, through corridors, around bends, and eventually to the exit doors at the south end of the school. Doors which they pushed open eagerly, finally free from the choking oppressiveness of Raccoon Elementary School, and into the dawn light of morning.

---

Chris had never seen Leon move so fast in his life. The former rookie cop had caught up with the mercenary right as they reached the corner office on the balcony and _tackled _the man onto the floor. Chris caught up with them in no time and immediately stripped the merc of his visible weapons - a knife and two handguns, one of which Chris threw to Leon. Leon had the merc straddled with his face on the ground, and one of the guns pressed into the back of his neck.

"Ever had a naked man with a gun sit on you, asshole?" Leon asked, with no particular expectation of an answer. Chris had to stifle back a laugh; it was kind of a bizarre situation, he had to admit.

"Now," Leon started, "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that it was your grubby hands that got hold of our clothes and weapons. Am I right?"

The merc said nothing.

"Chris," motioned Leon, "Why don't you to go ahead and unmask our pervert friend, here?"

"With pleasure, my man," Chris said back.

Chris knelt down next to the merc and with one smooth motion, grasped the front part of his mask and lifted it off the head. The man beneath was blonde and tanned; handsome, with devilish green eyes and a smirk upon his full lips. Even though he was very good looking, there was a deep red scar that ran along the side of his face, from his forehead down to his chin.

"Who are you?" Chris barked, throwing the mask off to the side.

"Don't got a name," the man said in a deep, baritone voice.

"Bullshit," Leon seethed between gritted teeth, "Tell us who you are."

"I told you," the man repeated, "I don't have a name."

Leon pressed the gun harder, enough for it to hurt, and the man let out a low groan of displeasure.

"If you really want to call me something," the merc forced between breaths, "You can call me HUNK."


End file.
